THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


€^t  Iflnrftiaq. 


"There  was  a  pleading  earnestness  in  his  eyes  which  caused  Agnes  to  tremble  vnih. 
uncontrollable  emotion,  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  would  have  fled 
from  liim,"  fPage  1C4. 


THE    SANCTUARY:. 


A    STORY    OF    TIIECIVIL     WAR, 


GEORGE   WARD  NICHOLS, 


AUTHOE   OP   "THE   STORY    OP   THE   GEEAT   MAROH. 


Witft  fiUustratfons. 


NEW    YORK: 

IIAEPER    &    BROTHEES,    PUBLISHERS, 

FUANKLIN      SQUARE. 

18G6. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-six,  hy 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


PREFACE, 


^t:^M^ff^-^^^  ^^^  ™y  g^^^  fortune,  several 
years  ago,  to  visit  the  Old  World* 
While  crossing  the  English  Channel  upon 
my  journey  toward  home,  my  mind  im- 
pressed with  the  glory  of  splendid  arch- 
itecture and  beautiful  pictures,  I  saw  a 
ship  under  full  sail,  with  our  national  ban- 
ner flying  at  the  mast-head.  "While  the 
vision  thrilled  me  with  emotions  of  pride 
and  exultation,  which  all  the  wonders  of  Eu- 
ropean art  had  failed  to  inspire,  yet  there  was  min- 
gled with  them  a  sense  of  humiliation  at  the  thought 
that  it  floated  over  four  millions  of  human  beings  in 
slavery. 

During  the  years  of  our  Civil  War,  it  has  been  my 

duty  to  make  longer  journeys  in  my  native  land,  not, 

as  in  Europe  years  ago,  a  spectator  merely,  but  as  an 

actor  in  scenes  where  the  beautiful,  the  heroic,  and 

A2 


603161 


X  Preface. 

the  terrible  were  strangely  mingled.  Day  after  day 
I  saw  the  sj^mbol  of  our  national  unity  outspread  by 
a  thousand  patriot  hands,  or  when  tossing  amid  the 
fray  of  battle,  I  have  watched  its  surge  as  token  of 
victory ;  and  grander  than  all,  as  crowds  of  refugees, 
white  and  black,  sought  its  folds  for  protection  and 
liberty,  I  no  longer  felt  humiliated  nor  ashamed,  for 
the  flag  of  our  union  symbolized  to  me,  as  it  must  to 
all  the  world.  Liberty,  in  its  widest,  purest,  noblest 
meaning. 

•  I  was  impressed  by  this  thought  more  than  by 
any  other  during  my  experiences  in  the  war,  and  the 
story  herein  narrated,  which  is  founded  upon  inci- 
dents within  my  own  knowledge,  has  suggested  to 
me  the  title  of 

Zl)t  Sanrtuarg. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

SCENE   AT    BONAVENTURA FfVUtispiece. 

THE   OLD   SLAVE 149 

ZIMRI   AND   CHARLOTTE 1 78 

ZIMRl'S   REVENGE 1 88 

HORTON   AND   KATE 254 

DALTON   AND  AGNES 280 


THE      SANCTUARY. 


I. 


N  the  fall  of  1864,  a  detachment  of  the  Fed- 
eral  Army  in  pursuit  of  Hood  was  encamped 
on  a  plantation  near  the  entrance  to  a  pass 
in  the  mountains  of  Northern  Alabama.  By 
one  of  those  chances  incident  to  a  marching 
army,  officers  and  men,  separated  from  their 
transportation  wagons,  had  gone  into  bivou- 
ac, and  were  making  such  preparations  for  the  night's 
rest  as  their  perseverance  and  energy  could  secure. 

The  immediate  locality  from  which  this  story  com- 
mences was  a  huge  camp-fire,  made  from  logs  and 
rails,  which  crackled,  and  sizzled,  and  roared  as  the 
gathering  flames  were  swayed  about  by  the  fitful 
wind,  which,  governed  apparently  by  no  regular 
laws,  came  moanino:  from  the  forest  and  hill-sides. 


14  The  Sanctuary. 

shifting  this  way  and  then  that,  the  whirling  vol- 
umes of  flame  and  smoke  giving  little  comfort  and 
less  rest  t©  the  party  of  officers  grouped  about,  who, 
hungry  and  tired,  were  making  the  most  of  their 
poor  circumstances.  Off  in  the  deep  gorge  could  be 
heard  the  click  and  thug  of  many  axes  in  the  hands 
of  pioneers,  striving  to  remove  the  obstructions  which 
the  retreating  army  had  interposed  by  felling  thou- 
sands of  trees  across  the  single  wagon-road,  in  hope 
of  checking  the  swift  pursuit.  In  the  valley  below, 
and  on  the  slopes  of  the  hills,  which,  upon  all  sides 
but  one,  formed  an  amphitheatre,  were  many  other 
gleaming  camp-fires,  and  fa"r  above,  from  a  jutting 
mountain  cliff,  the  torches  from  a  signal-station  were 
waving  rapidly  to  and  fro,  sending  messages  across 
the  intervening  hills  to  some  distant  correspondent 
miles  away  with  the  extreme  advance  of  the  army. 
The  sky,  which  had  been  so  clear  at  sunset,  was  now 
darkened  by  swiftly  drifting  masses  of  clouds,  and  in 
a  spiteful,  threatening  way,  a  few  scattered  rain-drops 
— the  skirmishers  from  advancing  columns  of  storm 
— sputtered  in  the  desolate  camp-fires. 

Near  our  special  camp-fire  —  for  the  gathering 
darkness  now  shuts  us  in  to  the  group  with  which 
our  story  is  concerned — was  a  log  hut,  and  attached 
to  the  fruit-trees  about  it,  to  the  fences,  and  to  stakes 


m 

!cti 


The  Sanctuary.  15 

driven  into  the  ground,  were  the  horses  of  the  party, 
more  contented  than  their  masters  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  bountiful  supplies  of  forage  and  grain  which 
were  found  upon  the  place.  Around  the  fire  the 
officers  were  grouped  in  attitudes  more  picturesque 
than  comfortable.  One,  the  luckiest  of  all,  had  se- 
cured possession  of  a  large  feed-trough,  into  which 
he  had  thrust  himself  bodily.  Another  had  obtain- 
ed a  claim  in  fee-simple  to  a  bee-hive  which  had  that 
day  been  rifled  of  its  inhabitants  and  sweets,  and 
whose  present  tenant  adhered  to  his  property  more 
closely  than  he  at  the  moment  was  aware.  Others 
sat  or  were  stretched  upon  rails,  while  others  still  lay 
upon  the  bare  ground,  first  offering  one  portion  and 
then  another  of  their  bodies  to  the  grateful  warmth 
of  the  fire. 

Taken  at  the  best,  the  time,  place,  and  circum- 
stances were  not  especially  calculated  to  enamour  a 
neophyte  with  a  soldier's  life.  But  there  were  few 
of  these  men  who  had  not  gone  through  with  half  a 
dozen  hard  campaigns,  and  they  had  many  a  remem- 
bered glory,  recent  or  remote,  of  victories  won  from 
the  very  skirts  of  defeat,  of  the  overmastering  siege, 
or  of  charges  that  defied  death,  to  balance  against 
their  immediate  discomfort.  After  all,  it  was  not  so 
much  the  glories  of  the  battle-field  that  were  recalled 


16  The  Sanctuary. 

as  a  compeusation  for  their  present  dreary  situation, 
but  rather,  by  that  curious  eccentricity  of  human  na- 
ture which  leads  men  in  their  miseries,  in  a  kind  of 
malicious  self-torture,  to  draw  vivid  images  of  de- 
lights beyond  their  reach,  they  set  over  against  the 
hardships  of  the  camp  the  delicious  comforts  of  a  dis- 
tant home,  or  the  refinements  of  civilized  life,  from 
which  they  had  been  so  long  divorced. 

"  How  I  would  like,"  said  Captain  Oakland,  from 
his  huge  feed-trough,  "to  crawl  between  the  clean 
sheets  of  a  bed  that  I  know  of  in  that  dear  old  home 
of  mine  in  New  York." 

"A  bed  is  a  charming  institution  on  a  night  like 
this,"  replied  Major  Cramer,  who  had  not  asked  for 
leave  of  absence  during  four  years  of  service,  and 
who  had  left  a  wife  and  two  little  ones  in  a  quiet 
home  in  Ohio.  "  Yes,"  he  continued,  as  he  pushed 
into  the  fire  a  half-burned  rail,  which  every  moment 
threatened  to  roll  over  upon  an  unconscious,  half- 
asleep  comrade,  "Oakland's  wish  includes  many 
other  comforts  the  opposite  of  the  present  situation. 
A  grate-fire,  dressing-gown,  the  evening  paper,  babies, 
and  all  that;  but  at  this  moment  there  is  a  gnawing 
sensation  at  the  stomach,  which  induces  me  to  be- 
lieve that,  next  to  'standing  in  the  deadly  breach,' 
the  highest  aspiration  of  the  soldier  is  to  eat !" 


The   Sanctuary.  17 

"Eat!"  shouted  Leveridge,  a  corps  inspector  of 
unusual  height,  whose  slender  body,  buttoned  close 
into  a  forage-jacket,  and  whose  thin  legs,  tightly  in- 
cased in  high  Wellington  boots,  were  in  comical  con- 
trast with  a  huge  mustache  that  overhung  an  exten- 
sive mouth,  which  suggested  extraordinary  capacities 
for  mastication.  "  I  imagine  myself  seated  at  one  of 
those  neat  little  tables  at  the  Maison  Doree,  with  that 
blessed  old  Martini  proposing  gombo-soup,  poulet  a 
I'Espagnol,  with  all  the  entremets^  jeltyj  and  a  bottle 
of  Beaune  or  Burgundy — " 

"  Stop  there !  That'll  do !"  was  the  cry  from  sev- 
eral suffering  listeners.  "I'll  compromise  for  a  piece 
of  hard  tack  and  a  cup  of  coffee,"  said  Cramer. 
"  Halloo,  here's  Horton !"  as  a  young  man  dismount- 
ed from  a  horse  which  showed  signs  of  having  been 
hard  ridden.  "  Well,  Horton,  where  have  you  been 
all  day,  and  where  are  our  wagons  ?  The  last  ques- 
tion first." 

"  The  wagons  are  a  good  mile  back,  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  trees  are  to  be  chopped  up  before 
they  can  arrive  at  this  point.  They'll  be  here  by 
morning,  no  doubt,  if  there's  any  satisfaction  in  that. 
As  to  your  other  question,  it  would  be  easier  to  tell 
where  I  have  not  been.  You  know  the  Fifteenth 
Corps  got  on  the  wrong  road  this  morning,  and  I 


18  The  Sanctuary. 

had  to  go  back  and  steer  them  right.  Has  there 
been  any  fighting?" 

"  No.  Hood  made  a  twenty-five  mile  march  of  it 
yesterday,  and  passed  this  paradise  just  m  time  to 
save  himself." 

Rest — such  as  the  soldier  has  under  the  roughest 
of  circumstances — had  for  some  time  settled  down 
upon  our  encampment,  when  the  sentinel,  who,  wrap- 
ped m  his  overcoat,  had  been  pacing  his  beat  across 
the  entrance  to  the  road,  called  out, 

"  Halt !  who  comes  there  ?" 

"  Ofiicers  and  guard  with  prisoners  from  the  front," 
was  the  reply  which  came  from  a  group  of  men  thus 
suddenly  brought  to  a  stand  in  the  deep  shadow.  A 
few  words  passed  between  the  sentinel  and  the  guard, 
and  the  party  emerged  from  the  shadow  into  the 
glare  of  the  fire-light,  and  then  plunged  into  the 
darkness  again.  An  officer,  wearing  the  insignia  of 
a  major  of  artillery,  who,  during  the  evening,  had 
been  lying  upon  the  ground,  gazing  with  a  preoccu- 
pied air  into  the  fire,  and  who  had  apparently  paid 
little  heed  to  any  thing  which  had  been  going  on 
thus  far,  and  who  had  sprung  to  his  feet  at  the  reply 
to  the  sentinel's  challenge,  followed  rapidly  the  steps 
of  the  squad  of  prisoners  as  they  disappeared  over 
the  brow  of  the  hill. 


The  Sanctuary. 


19 


"  There  goes  Major  Dal  ton  again  upon  his  almost 
hopeless  search  after  his  lost  brother,"  murmured 
Horton,  as  he  composed  himself  for  the  brief  inter- 
val of  slumber  yet  left  him  before  daybreak. 

Still  on  the  mountain's  crest  the  flaming  signal 
torches  told  their  mysterious  story  to  their  distant 
correspondents,  and  the  sound  of  the  axes  could  still 
be  heard  in  the  forest  as  the  watchful  sentinel  paced 
back  and  forth. 


II. 

A  TALL  young  man  of  twenty-three,  who,  being 
-^^^  the  son  of  a  prosperous  merchant  in  the  city 
of  Savannah,  had  known  little  of  the  sharp  conflict 
of  life ;  whose  gentle  face  disclosed,  in  a  large  meas- 
ure, the  spirit  of  the  beautiful,  and  gave  prophetic 
signals  of  a  possible  heroism  upon  which,  as  3'et,  no 
call  had  been  made,  and  whose  soft  dark  blue  eyes 
seemed  rather  to  reflect  the  flowery  savannas  of  his 
native  South  than  to  give  token  of  the  stern  Saxon 
strength  that  really  lurked  in  their  hidden  depths 
— such  was  the  David  Dalton  of  our  story  in  the 
month  of  April,  1861,  when  the  evil  star  of  Rebel- 
lion rose  and  stood  defiant  above  dismantled  Fort 
Sumter,  in  Charleston  Harbor. 

A  young  woman  of  eighteen  years,  in  this  self- 
same evil  hour,  who  seemed  almost  a  child — for  the 
storm  that  was  hurtling  in  the  air  above  her  had  not 
vet  revealed  the  misrht  of  her  womanhood  —  with 


The  Sanctuary.  21 

hazel  eyes,  solemn,  reflective,  and  as  subtle  and  se- 
rene as  the  sea,  with  a  face  that  showed  a  capacity 
for  passion  equaled  only  by  its  capacity  for  sorrow 
— this  was  Agnes  Saumur,  toward  whom  the  heart 
of  Dalton  had  been  driftiiig  for  years. 

To  both  these  the  South,  and  the  possible  destiny 
of  the  South,  was  ineffably  dear;  it  was  to  them 
both  an  inspiration,  a  rapturous  dream.  But  in  this 
revolutionary  crisis  they  differed  widely  in  their  esti- 
mate of  the  situation,  according  to  the  difference  of 
their  education  and  intimate  personal  associations, 
and  according  to  the  difference  which  there  always  is 
between  a  man's  judgment  of  events  and  a  woman's. 
In  the  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  national  govern- 
ment to  command  the  allegiance  of  Southern  citizens 
she  could  see  only  a  tyrannical  aggression.  He  saw 
at  the  root  of  secession  a  despotism  as  bitter  and  re- 
lentless as  any  of  which  history  holds  a  record.  He 
knew  that  his  father,  and  many  other  citizens  of  Sa- 
vannah, though  in  ordinary  times  they  wielded  that 
moral  influence  which  alwayg  accompanies  respecta- 
bility and  honesty,  were  surrounded  by  a  wall  of 
hatred.  He 'knew  that  the  time  had  already  come 
when  the  diabolic  spirit  which  had  been  hitherto 
under  restraint  would  break  through  all  barriers  and 
become  a  consuming  fire.     He  saw  the  wolves  even 


22  The  Sanctuary. 

under  their  sheep's  clothing.  His  great  anxiety  was 
for  his  family.  They  must,  at  any  hazard,  be  re- 
moved to  a  haven  of  security,  where '  the  coming 
strife  could  not  reach  them.  He  at  length  saw  them 
leave  their  old  homestead  and  their  native  city, 
knowing  that  for  miles  and  miles  in  their  journey 
northward  they  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  fierce,  sus- 
picious faces,  and,  trembling  for  the  result,  he  had 
no  rest  until  he  heard  of  their  safety. 

One  night  Dalton's  heart  was  relieved.  He  had 
received  a  letter  from  the  North,  written  by  his  lit- 
tle sister  Nellie.     It  ran  as  follows : 

"Louisville,  May  2,  1861. 

"  Dear  Brother  Davy,— 
"We  reached  this  smoky,  dingy  pile  of  a  Louis- 
ville yesterday  eve.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  scold 
you,  dear  Davy,  for  sending  us  off  from  our  beauti- 
ful Savannah.  But  papa  was  so  glad  to  get  here ! 
One  would  think,  from  his  manner,  that  Louisville 
was  next  door  to  heaven.  We  have  had  such  a 
dreary  journey,  it  is  pleasant  to  find  rest  almost  any 
where.  Mamma  is  quite  ill  from  the  excitement. 
Oh,  my  dear  Davy,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  What 
have  we  been  running  away  from?  And  why  are 
not  you  and  Harold  here  ?     We  are  all  so  anxious 


The  Sanctuary.  23 

about  you.  I  am  so  worried,  it  seems  as  if  some 
dreadful  thing  were  going  to  happen.  Won't  you 
and  Harold  come  straight  away  here  to  your  dear 
little  Nellie?  Mamma  sends  kisses  for  you  both, 
and  papa  writes  a  postscript  to  this.  Every  body 
here  is  in  the  greatest  excitement,  talking  about  Fort 
Sumter,  and  papa  says  there  is  going  to  be  a  great 
war.  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  I  have  teased  papa 
dreadfully  about  it,  but  can  get  nothing  sensible  out 
of  him.  Do,  please,  write  and  tell  me  every  thing, 
and  take  the.  greatest  care  of  Harold. 

''From  your  dear  sister,        Nellie  Dalton." 

'^  Papa's  postscript"  simply,  and  in  few  words,  de- 
scribed the  flight  of  the  family  from  Georgia  across 
the  mountains  of  East  Tennessee,  and  their  safe  ar- 
rival at  Louisville.  ''Do  not  be  anxious  about  us," 
he  said.  "  I  have  taken  enough  of  my  small  fortune 
to  keep  us  in  comfort  through  this  season  of  trouble, 
which  I  know  will  not  be  over  for  years  yet.  We 
are  very  anxious  about  you  and  Harold.  I  have  no 
advice  to  give  you,  but  if  you  feel  compelled  to  take 
an  active  part  in  this  struggle,  I  know  it  will  be  on 
the  side  of  the  dear  old  Union.  And  remember,  my 
dear  son,  if  you  fight  for  that,  you  are  at  the  same 
time  fighting  for  the  South." 


2J:  The  Sanctuary. 

"Well  might  little  Kellie  ask  what  it  all  meant, 
thought  Dalton,  as,  on  the  ^evening  of  the  receipt  of 
this  letter,  he  turned  the  corner  of  Pulaski  Square. 
He  had  just  left  Sarah,  the  old  family  servant  of  the 
Daltons,  with  the  usual  injunction  of  secrecy  as  to 
the  movement  of  the  family  northward,  and  with 
the  promise  that  he  would  be  back  before  midnight. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  see  Agnes  Saumur.  Sa- 
vannah was  feverish  with  excitement.  On  all  sides 
were  to  be  seen  preparations  for  war.  On  all  sides 
were  to  be  heard  the  most  confident  predictions  as  to 
any  issue  at  arms  with  the  cowardly  Yankees,  and  a 
multitude  of  curses  heaped  upon  Southern  Unionists. 
What  was  Agnes  thinking  of  all  this  time?  How 
would  she  regard  the  position  which  he  had  resolved 
to  take  ? 

"Oh,  here  is  Mr.  Dalton!"  was  the  cry  which 
greeted  him  as  he  entered  the  drawing-room  of 
Agnes  Saumur's  home. 

"We  were  discussing,"  said  Agnes,  "what  shall 
be  the  true  flag  of  the  Southern  Republic.  Your 
artistic  taste  is  unquestionable.  You  shall  give  us 
your  opinion." 

"What  is  this  new  flag  supposed  to  represent?" 
he  asked,  scarcely  venturing  at  that  moment  to  meet 
her  gaze. 


The   Sanctuary.  25 

"  Why,  liberty,  of  course — the  liberty  of  the  South 
from  Lincoln  and  Yankee  abolitionists,"  said  Major 
Ghils<fn,  who  was  dressed  in  uniform.  He  was  cap- 
tain of  a  company  of  the  Oglethorpe  Guard.  At  the 
same  time  he  gazed  earnestly,  and  witli  a  shadow  of 
suspicion  crossing  his  dark  face,  into  the  burning 
eyes  of  David  Dalton,  who  stood  there  vainly  striv- 
ing to  control  the  indignant  words  which  rushed  to 
his  lips. 

"  I  always  thought  the  stars  and  stripes  were  an, 
emblem  of  liberty.     What  need  have  we  of  another 
flag?" 

"We  mean  to  have  nothing  about  lis  that  savors 
of  the  old  accursed  Union,"  said  Ghilson,  advancing 
toward  Dalton.  "  If  I  had  my  way,  I  would  build  a 
wall  as  high  as  heaven  to  separate  us  from  every 
tiling  associated  with  Yankees  or  the  Union.  By 
the  way,  we  have  been  looking  after  you,  Dalton, 
this  fortnight  past.  You  have  had  a  military  educa- 
tion, and  will  be  of  service  in  the  war — that  is,"  he 
added,  sneeringly,  "if  the  Yankees  will  stand  before 
us  long  enough  to  be  beaten." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dalton,  you  must  leave  the  artillery 
company  and  join  the  Oglethorpe  Guard,"  said 
Agnes,  with  enthusiasm.  He  turned  and  looked 
into  her  bright  expectant  countenance,  his  anger 
changing  to  an  expression  of  sorrow, 

B 


26  The  Sanctuary. 

"Agnes,"  he  said  at  length,  "I  can  not  answer 
you  at  this  moment." 

"Perhaps  Dalton  has  heard  that  the  Oglefhorpe 
Gruard  has  been  ordered  to  join  Beauregard's  army 
in  Virginia,"  insinuated  Ghilson,  in  an  insolent  tone. 

Dalton  faced  him  in  an  instant.  "  You  know, 
Ghilson,  that  I  am  no  duelist,  or  you  would  scarcely 
have  dared  to  be  so  impertinent." 

"  We  will  soon  meet  where  joii  can  defend  your- 
,self,"  replied  Ghilson,  black  with  passion. 

"  Perhaps  sooner,  though  not  in  the  place  that  you 
imagine,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

Ghilson  made  no  answer,  but  it  was  easy  to  read 
the  revengeful  expression  of  his  face,  which  made 
Agnes  involuntarily  shrink  from,  him  as  he  bade 
her  good-night. 

Alone  with  Agnes,  Dalton  eloquently  proclaimed 
his  fealty  to  the  national  cause,  his  hatred  of  seces- 
sion, and  his  intention  to  depart  for  the  Korth.  "  I 
shall  join  the  Union  Army,  and,  if  need  be,  give  my 
life  in  defense  of  the  nation." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Dalton,  how  can  you  thus  desert  the 
South  in  her  extremity.  You  are  a  born  Southerner. 
Would  you  strike  at  the  land  of  your  birth  ?  This 
is  shameful  in  you,"  said  Agnes,  withdrawing  the 
hand  which  he  had  taken. 


The  Sanctuary.  27 

Dalton's  face  was  pale  from  emotion,  but  his  re- 
solve did  not  waver,  and  bis  voice  was  firm  as  he 
answered  her. 

"Agnes,  this  trial  is  to  me  a  terrible  one.  I  love 
you  above  all  things — except  my  country's  honor, 
and  that  is  my  honor.  Oh,  Agnes,  you  would  not 
have  me  sacrifice  that !" 

''I  do  not  know  what  to  say,"  said  Agnes,  almost 
convulsed  with  her  conflicting  passions.  "  I  would 
not  have  believed  that  any  thing  upon  earth  could 
have  separated  us.  I  thought  I  could  follow  you 
any  where.  But  I  never  dreamed  that  you  could 
prove  recreant  to  the  South." 

"  I  love  the  South,  and  am  proud  of  her  glory, 
and  in  following  my  present  convictions  of  right,  I 
renounce  no  portion  of  that  love  and  pride.  I  have 
no  sacrifice  to  make  of  past  dreams  to  present  emer» 
gencies,  unless,  indeed,  you  ask  me  to  sacrifice  j^our 
love,  which  has  been  so  bright  a  part  of  all  my 
dreams,  even  of  my  very  being,  Agnes."  As  he 
spoke  he  drew  nearer  to  her,  with  a  lover's  appeal- 
ing face  bent  upon  hers ;  and  taking  from  his  bosom 
little  Nellie's  letter,  he  said,  "  I  know  from  this  that 
those  who,  next  to  yourself,  are  the  dearest  of  all  to 
me,  are  far  removed  from  the  insane  madness  which 
rules  all  here.     I  have  remained  in  this  city  so  long 


28  The  Sanctuary. 

myself  but  for  one  purpose,  to  ask  you  also  to  leave 
and  go  with  me.  You  have  no  family  ties  to  bind 
you  to  this  place.  Your  parents  rest  3'onder  in  Bon- 
aventura.  Your  uncle  is  hateful  to  you.  I  can  this 
very  night,  by  our  marriage,  give  you  the  protection 
of  mj^  name.  "Will  you  not  go  with  me,  dear  Agnes, 
away  from  the  turmoil,  and  suffering,  and  humilia- 
tion which  must  overtake  you  in  the  long  years  of 
the  bloody,  ruinous  war  before  us?"  He  waited  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  shrank  away  from  him. 

"I  will  bear  all  the  suffering.  Whatever  destiny 
is  reserved  for  the  South,  I  will  share,"  and  she  look- 
ed heroically  j^roud,  her  heart  within  her  all  the 
while  melting:  with  love  for  David  Dalton.  "  You 
may  be  right,"  she  continued,  ''but  to  me  it  seems 
criminally  wrong.  I  can  not  follow  you.  I  can  not 
be  the  wife  of  a  recreant  to  our  cause." 

These  words  stung  Dalton's  loyal,  gentle  heart. 
One  moment  the  two  stood  gazing  into  each  others 
eyes — the  next,  he  was  gone,  and  a  giddy,  blinding 
darkness  came  in  his  j)lace,  as  Agnes  fell  fainting  to 
the  floor. 

As  Dalton  passed  out  of  the  house,  a  figure  dress- 
ed in  the  gray  uniform  of  the  rebelifarmy  stepped 
out  from  under  the  shadow  of  the  portico  and  seized 
him  bv  the  arm. 


The  Sanctuary.  29 

"  Come  this  waj^,  Dave,  and  quickly  too!" 

Daltoo's  fii\st  impulse  was  to  shake  off  the  man's 
grasp,  but  he  at  once  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of 
his  brother. 

''  Harold  !  and  in  that  dress !  What  are  you  do- 
ing here?     What's  the  matter?" 

"You'll  have  to  run  for  it,  Dave.  Half  an  hour 
since  Sarah  came  to  our  rendezvous.  A  guard  has 
been  stationed  at  the  house  to  arrest  you  on  your 
return.  She  brought  over  your  artillery  uniform. 
Nobody  will  expect  to  see  you  in  that,  and  you  must 
adopt  the  disguise.  Her  son  Harry  has  brought  his 
boat  around  to  the  marsh,  below  the  saw-mill.  You 
must  go  down  the  river.  There  is  no  other  way  of 
escape.  He  will  take  you  through  the  creeks  and 
river  over  to  Charleston.  You  can  get  North  from 
there.  Something  unusual  has  turned  up  which  ex- 
cites suspicion." 

"I  understand  it  all,"  said  Dal  ton ;  "it's  Ghilson! 
But  you — what  do  you  propose  to  do?" 

"  I  will  remain.  It  will  throw  these  devils  off  the 
track.  Get  to  the  North  as  fast  as  you  can.  I  will 
follow." 

In  a  few  moments  Dalton  had  put  on  his  uniform, 
and,  passing  fearlessly  through  the  streets,  found  the 
boat  buried  amid  the  brush  of  the  river-bank,  with 


30 


TuE  Sanctuary. 


its  dusky  pilot  waiting  in  anxious  suspense,  knowing 
full  well  the  price  of  loj-alty  in  these  da3'S,  and  this 
had  not  been  his  first  mission  in  the  Union  service. 

"  Good-by,  Harold." 

"  Good-by,  Dave." 

"Louisville?" 

"Louisville." 

And  with  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand  the  brothers 
parted,  not  to  meet  in  Louisville  in  a  few  weeks,  as 
they  anticipated,  but  long  afterward,  and  under  far 
different  circumstances. 


III. 


TTTE  left  Major  Dalton,  at  the  close  of  our  first 
*  '  chapter,  following  the  party  of  captured  pris- 
oners whom  he  found  already  halted  within  the  in- 
closure  of  a  light  fortification  thrown  up  and  used 
by  the  enemy  during  the  skirmish  of  a  few  hours 
before. 

"I  say,  Bill,"  blurted  out  a  tall  fellow,  with  long 
black  hair,  whose  high  cheek-bones  and  sallow  com- 
plexion gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  Indian  rather 
than  a  white  man,  "  it  'pears  like  as  ef  we'd  seen 
this  place  afore." 

"  D — n  me,  Jake,  ef  I  didn't  work  like  a  nigger 
thro  win'  up  that  ar  breastwork."  Bill,  the  speaker, 
was  an  unkempt,  blear-eyed  young  soldier,  with 
white,  thin  lips — a  specimen  of  the  "poor  white," 
from  his  slouching  hat  to  his  naked  feet,  and  was 
one  of  half  a  dozen  who  had  been  unable  to  keep  up 


32  The  Sanctuary. 

Avitli  the  rebel  column,  and  liaci  been  captured  by 
the  Federal  cavalry. 

*'  If  you  have  no  objection,  I  would  like  to  ask 
these  men  a  few  questions,"  said  Major  Dalton,  ad- 
dressing the  officer  of  the  guard. 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

*'Do  any  of  you  belong  to  a  Georgia  regiment?" 
asked  Dalton  of  the  group  of  prisoners. 

"No;  we  came  straight  from  Alabame."  "Twen- 
ty-third Alabame  regiment"  two  or  three  responded 
at  the  same  moment. 

"I've  bin  in  Georgj^,"  broke  in  the  man  called 
Jake,  "but  that  was  a  right  smart  time  back.  Come 
heyar  to  trade  fur  niggers,  yer  see,  father  'nd  I." 

"  Thank  you,"  interrupted  Dalton  ;  "  but  I  wanted 
to  get  news  of  a  brother  of  mine,  Harold  Dalton, 
who  I  believe  was  in  your  service.  He  came  from 
Savannah." 

"  I  know'd  a  Mike  Dalton  afore  the  war,"  replied 
the  voluble  Jake,  "  but,  ef  I  remember  right,  he  war 
shot  fur  horse-stealing  down  'bout  New  Orleans  in 
fifty-nine." 

Dalton  was  turning  away  from  the  inclosure  with 
keen  disappointment,  when  he  was  recalled  by  one 
of  the  group. 

"  Major,  I  think  I  can  give  you  some  information 
of  your  brother." 


The  Sanctuary.  33 

In  an  instant  Dalton  was  by  the  side  of  the  speak- 
er, a  youngi^an  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  private, 
yet  whose  manner  indicated  a  higher  rank. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  that  I  helped 
guard  your  brother,  who  was  one  of  a  party  of  de- 
serters on  their  way  to  Savannah.  If  I  remember 
correctly,  he  had  been  a  conscript,  and  was  caught 
while  attempting  to  escape  to  the  Yankee  lines,  just 
about  the  time  of  the  Missionary  Eidge  fight.  If  he 
was  the  man,  he  was  nigh  sick  to  death,  and  wasn't 
thought  worth  the  trouble  of  shooting.  At  any  rate, 
we  turned  him  over  to  the  guard  at  Millen." 

"Have  you  heard  from  him  "since?"  eagerly  de- 
manded the  major,  who  for  three  anxious  years  had 
not  till  this  moment  received  the  first  token  of  his 
brother's  fate. 

"No,  I  have  not,  although  I  know  that  some  of 
that  party  were  shot.  All  of  them  had  been  con- 
demned, but,  for  some  special  reason  which  I  did  not 
understand,  most  of  them  were  sent  down  to  Sa- 
vannah." 

"I  thank  you  a  thousand  times.  You  have  given 
me  a  satisfaction  I  have  not  known  for  a  long  while," 
said  Dalton,  as  he  turned  his  steps  toward  his  camp- 
fire  at  head-quarters.  For  hours  he  paced  back  and 
forth  near  his  sleeping  comrades,  heeding  not  the 
B2 


34  The  Sanctuary. 

falling  rain.  A  thousand  memories  crowded  upon 
Lis  brain.  Harold,  whom  he  had  last  m#t  before  his 
own  northward  flight,  the  protracted  war  not  yet 
closed,  a  dozen  household  wTecks  of  his  personal 
friends,  and  his  own  family  exiled,  but,  thank  God, 
secure  from  harm  under  the  protection  of  the  old 
flag — these  subjects  engrossed  his  thoughts.  If  there 
came  a  memory  more  insinuating  than  all  others,  in 
which  he  saw  the  face  of  Agnes,  sweet,  reflective, 
proud,  it  was  treated  like  a  rude  intruder,  and  was 
banished  with  bitter  adieus — bitter,  but  remorseless 
— repeated,  alas !  how  many  times  before ;  for  Dal- 
ton  was  a  sterner  man  than  he  had  been — even  as 
the  cold,  hard  face  of  the  North  to  which  he  had  fled 
in  this  time  of  storms  seemed  sterner  to  the  view 
than  the  warm  skies  and  flowery  fields  of  his  native 
South.  To  him  it  was  as  if  the  South,  with  all  which 
it  contained  beautiful  and  glorious,  and  Agnes  with 
the  rest,  was  like  a  scroll  rolled  up  and  sealed  until 
some  mighty  judgment -day  should  have  passed, 
when  there  should  arise  a  new  heaven  and  a  new 
earth.  He  had  not  lost  hope,  but  he  had  now  little 
of  that  enthusiasm  which  gives  fragrance  to  hope — 
which  decks  her  with  garlands.  He  was  no  doubter, 
yet  Faith  was  not  now  the  gentle  angel  she  had  once 
been.     The  very  love  of  Christ  was  clothed  with  ter- 


The  SxVnctuary.  35 

rors,  as  if  it  were  lienceforth  not  to  lead  men,  but 
only  chastise  them.  Yes,  for  three  years  the  world 
had  been  transformed  for  Dalton.  Like  a  child  that 
wantons  with  the  very  wind  that  has  been  blowing 
its  flowers  into  dust,  even  so  Dalton  caught  inspira- 
tion from  the  blast  of  war  which  had  desolated  the 
dreams  of  his  youth.  The  music  ever  in  his  ears 
was  no  longer  a  j^assionate  lyric,  but  an  awful  psalm. 


lY. 

"  T^O  arms !  to  arms !    They  come !    The  wagons ! 

-^  the  wagons !"  cried  Leveridge,  in  mock  heroics, 
as  the  first  morning  light,  tinging  the  western  cliffs 
and  lighting  up  the  gloomy  gap,  revealed  to  his  eyes 
the  white  tips  of  the  approaching  train  and  long  col- 
umns of  troops  which  poured  out  of  the  pass,  now 
cleared  of  obstructions.  White  signal-flags  now  took 
the  place  of  the  torches  of  the  night  before.  The 
whole  encampment  was  in  a  moment  transformed 
into  a  scene  of  bustling  activity.  With  the  wagons 
had  come  the  entire  tribe  of  head-quarter  followers — 
cooks,  servants,  orderlies,  and  what  not.  Breakfast 
was  on  all  sides  prepared  and  dispatched  with  a 
brevity  which  would  have  driven  Delmonico's  chef- 
de-cuisine  out  of  his  wits,  and  the  army  was  again  in 
motion. 

It  was  that  critical  moment  in  the  history  of  Sher- 
man's army  when  its  great  leader  was  looking  with 


The  Sanctuary.  87 

intent  and  eager  eyes  eastward  toward  the  sea,  wliile 
watli  a  sidelong,  anxious  glatice  be  watched  most  wa- 
rily the  steps  of  the  dashing  General  Hood.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  rumors  as  various  as  the  straggling 
speculations  out  of  which  they  were  born.  To  the 
merely  casual  observer  the  movements  ordered  and 
executed  at  this  time  seemed  to  shift  this  way  and 
that,  without  definite  object,  or  any  well-concerted 
plan.  They  were  like  the  fugitive  gusts  of  wind, 
lifting  the  dust  of  the  roads  and  whirling  the  forest- 
leaves,  preceding  the  current  of  the  storm  which  dal- 
lies thus  by  way  of  prelude,  refusing  to  develop  its 
course  or  its  destination  until  its  strength  shall  have 
been  matured  and  its  march  commenced.  Consulta- 
tions were  held  by  officers  high  in  command,  couriers 
were  dispatched  hither  and  thither  in  opposite  direc- 
tions, but  the  great  movement  which  these  events 
foreshadowed  was  only  revealed  when  it  began  to  be 
accomplished.  That  movement  now  belongs  to  the 
history  of  the  war,  and  forms  its  most  interesting 
chapter. 

The  morning  which  looked  down  upon  this  bustle 
of  the  army  found  Dalton  and  Horton  apart  by  them- 
sglves.  They  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  hill  which 
overlooked  the  Chattooga  Eiver  and  its  picturesque 
valley.     The  spectacle  offered  to  their  eyes  was  one 


88  The  Sanctuary. 

cliaracteristic  of  army  life.  The  river  banks  were 
lined  with  groups  of  soldiers,  some  bathing,  others 
washingr  their  clothes,  and  others  loun2finsc  on  the 
grass,  smoking  and  chatting  in  careless  ease.  From 
a  mill  near  by  emerged  a  squad  of  soldiers  covered 
with  no  small  proportion  of  the  flour  which  they  had 
been  grinding  from  wheat  gathered  from  the  country 
round.  Yet  farther  down  the  river  large  details  of 
men  were  employed  sinking  in  the  water  huge  cribs 
to  answer  as  piers  for  a  bridge  over  which  the  army 
was  to  pass.  For  a  time  the  two  gazed  upon  this 
scene  in  silence.  They  were  friends,  and  there  is 
upon  this  earth  no  friendship  so  full  and  so  enduring 
as  that  which  binds  together  the  hearts  of  two  strong, 
earnest  soldiers  fighting  in  the  same  cause.  They 
had  received  their  orders,  and  knew  that  they  were 
to  part  here — Dalton  to  go  to  Nashville,  and  Horton 
with  the  main  army.  They  knew  that  they  w^ould 
not  meet  again  for  months — that  they  might  not  ever 
meet  again.  But  there  was  no  expression  of  senti- 
ment between  them ;  such  an  expression  is  not  com- 
mon with  men  who  stand  face  to  face  with  mighty 
realities — not  that  sentiment  is  a  weakness,  but  be- 
cause it  pales  in  the  presence  of  instant,  pressing  ac- 
tion. They  looked  down  into  the  valley ;  they  saw 
the  movements  that  were  going  on,  and  caught  a 


The  Sanctuary.  39 

large  measure  of  their  significance  in  tlie  epic  of  war 
in  which  they  were  actors;  clown  there  was  much  of 
tumult  and  confusion,  but  their  thoughts  moved  on 
like  the  river  before  them,  quick  and  determined. 
To  them  both  the  immediate  future  was  a  promise. 
To  Horton  it  was  the  promise  of  knightly  adventure 
— his  was  the  soul  of  Sir  Launcelot  •  to  Dalton  it  was 
like  the  promised  fulfillment  of  a  prophecy.  Yet 
their  inmost  thought  found  no  vent  in  words. 

At  length  Dalton,  like  one  waking  from  a  dream, 
adverted  to  the  topic  which,  among  earthly  things, 
seemed  to  interest  him  most  of  all. 

"You  will  go  southward,  Horton.  In  times  hke 
these,  private  interests  are  of  petty  consequence,  but 
you  know  my  anxiety  in  regard  to  my  brother  Har- 
old. It  is  not  impossible  that  you  may  find  some 
clew  to  the  mystery  which  has  so  long  perplexed, 
and  which  is  the  occasion  of  much  apprehension  to 
my  family.  If  you  do,  I  know,"  said  he,  as  he  grasp- 
ed the  hand  of  his  friend,  "  that  for  my  sake,  so  far 
as  your  duties  will  allow,  you  will  take  an  interest  in 
his  unhappy  fate.  Last  night  I  learned  something 
from  one  of  our  prisoners  which  gives  me  hope  that 
he  is  still  alive.     You  understand  me,  my  friend." 

If  any  other  anxious  thought  occurred  to  him — if 
he  thought,  "You  will  go  seaward,  probably — to  Sa- 


40  The  Sanctuary. 

vannali,  perchance — and  should  you  find  one  Agnes 
Saumur,  of  whom  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  hither- 
to, and  should  you  find  her  in  any  trouble,  you  will, 
for  dear  love's  sake,  lighten  her  care  and  shield  her 
from  want  or  harm" — if  such  a  thought  occurred  to 
his  mind,  he  doubtless  said  to  his  heart,  "She  has 
chosen  to  cast  her  lot  with  those  who  are  traitors  to 
my  country.  Let  her  abide  by  her  choice."  At  any 
rate,  the  name  of  Agnes  Saumur  was  not  spoken. 

Horton  had  scarcely  responded  with  his  wonted 
sympathy  to  Dalton's  request  concerning  his  brother 
when  the  two  friends  were  interrupted  by  an  orderl}^ — 

"  Captain  Horton,  the  general  sends  for  you." 

"Is  it  a  long  ride?" 

"I  think  so,  sir." 

"I  wish  you  to  go  with  me;  and,  if  you  can  find 
Sam,  tell  him  to  put  some  hard  bread  into  my  saddle- 
bags." 

"  Yes,  captain,"  and  the  orderly  was  gone. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow !"  said  Horton  to  his  com- 
panion, as  they  neared  the  line  of  tents  which  marked 
the  head-quarters. 

"Good-by." 

And  so  they  parted — Dalton  to  join  a  column  of 
troops  moving  North,  while  Horton  entered  the  gen- 
eral's tent. 


M 

^K 

N# 

^ 

m^ 

m^'frnt 

V. 

n["^nE  general  was  seated  on  a  camp-cot.  lie  was 
^  a  tal],  sparely-built  man,  with  a  high,  reflective 
head,  a  nervous,  impatient  face,  which  seemed  a  fit 
setting  for  the  restless  brown  eyes  that  seemed  to-  do 
duty  for  all  the  other  organs  of  sense,  observing, 
comprehending,  and  deciding  at  one  and  the  same 
moment.  lie  was  writing  with  a  pencil,  earnestly 
consulting  now  and  then  a  map  which  lay  before 
him.  Looking  up  at  the  sound  of  footsteps,  he  ex- 
claimed, 

"  Ilorton  ?  Yes,  I  sent  for  you.  I  wish  you  to  go 
over  to  General  Schofield.  He  is  at  Cedar  Bluff. 
Tell  him  to  make  that  movement  across  the  Coosa  at 
once,  and  seriously."  "  I  must  be  certain,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  "that  Hood  has  not  gone  South,  after  all." 
"Tell  the  general  that  I  wish  him  to  report  to  me  his 
information  as  frequently  and  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
Lose  no  time,  Ilorton,  in  getting  there  and  back." 


42  The  Sanctuary. 

"  Yes,  general,"  replied  Horton,  as  he  moved  awa}'. 

"  Horton,"  continued  the  general,  still  writing  rap- 
idly, "  on  your  way,  examine  the  roads,  and  report  to 
me  their  condition." 

"Yes,  general,"  and  the  young  aid-de-camp  went 
out  from  the  tent  and  mounted  his  horse,  which  stood 
waiting  for  him,  in  charge  of  the  faithful  Baxter. 

Threading  their  way  through  a  column  of  troops 
in  motion  on  the  road,  passing  several  encampments 
of  troops  where  the  lofty  flag-staff  marked  the  head- 
quarters of  some  division  or  corps  commanders,  and 
then  emerging  from  these  streets  of  canvas  houses 
out  into  the  woods,  past  a  strong  detachment  posted 
as  the  grand  guard,  over  the  hills  and  through  the 
w^oods  again  until  they  reached  the  outermost  pick- 
ets, stationed  near  some  ruins  which  were  once  some 
splendid  iron-works,  Horton  received  this  informa- 
tion— 

"It's  rayther  dangerous,  cap'n,  to  go  out  on  that 
ar  road.  The  Eebs  captured  one  ofiScer  last  night 
nigh  on  to  half  a  mile  out.  Yon  wood's  full  on 
'em,  sir." 

If  Horton  had  consulted  his  own  wishes,  there  is 
little  doubt  that  he  would  have  turned  back  for  a 
stronger  escort ;  but  his  errand  was  one  of  haste,  and 
that  pride  which  enters  so  largely  into  the  motives 


The  Sanctuahy.  43 

of  a  soldier's  action  impelled  liim  to  go  on  and  take 
the  risks.  Moreover,  his  companion  was  one  of  the 
famous  First  Alabama  Cavalry,  and  not  only  had  the 
finest  instincts  of  a  scout,  but  knew  every  foot  of  the 
twelve  miles  to  be  traversed  before  reaching  the  next 
pickets. 

Touching  the  spur  to  his  horse,  the  aid-de-camp 
dashed  past  the  kindly -intending  picket,  and  for  a 
few  miles  sped  swiftly  along  the  road  with  his  com- 
panion. In  a  few  moments  the  young  soldier  gave 
little  heed  to  the  stony  brooks  over  which  he  splash- 
ed, or  to  the  solemn  pines  which  rose  grandly  over- 
head a  hundred  feet,  tufted  with  spreading  green. 
His  thoughts  ran,  quick  as  his  horse's  feet,  back  to 
his  dear  New  England.  He,  too,  had  his  dream  of 
love — a  happier  dream  than  any  in  which  his  friend 
Dalton  indulged  in  these  days,  and  one  which  was 
every  way  in  harmony  with  this  beautiful  morning, 
and  with  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  warmed  Hor- 
ton's  soul.  Kate  Noble  stood  before  him  an  image 
of  wonderful  brilliancy  and  beauty,  her  countenance 
wearing  that  expression  in  part  so  playful  and  in 
part  so  sincere — an  expression  which  could  scarcely 
be  called  coquettish,  but  which  the  French  have  sig- 
nified by  the  term  "  sensiblerie" — where  the  poetry 
of  the  heart  springs  up  to  the  surface  in  countless 


4-i  The  Saxctuary. 

witcheries  of  look,  and  speccb,  and  manner.  Born 
of  love,  this  image  was  glorified.  But  Horton  dwelt 
longer  and  more  fondly  upon  the  last  moments  which 
he  had  spent  with  this  charming  girl.  He  recalled 
every  minute  detail  of  that  last  meeting — his  first  an- 
nouncement to  her  of  his  purpose  to  join  the  Union 
army,  his  hesitation  to  speak  of  the  love  which  he 
felt  for  her,  and  that  final  outburst  of  emotion  to 
which,  at  parting,  she  had  given  full  vent — her  deep- 
er, finer  nature  breaking  forth  in  those  words,  which 
even  yet  thrilled  every  fibre  of  his  being,  quickening 
into  life  and  sustaining  the  hopes  of  years — "You 
will  come  back  to  us,  dear  Alfred !  God  bless  and 
protect  you!"  Then  her  father  strode  in  upon  the 
scene  with  his  crucible,  which  would  turn  all  things 
into  gold.  "My  sword  shall  turn  his  glittering  met- 
al into  dross,"  thought  the  captain,  and  almost  invol- 
untarily he  pressed  his  spur  into  his  horse's  flank, 
who  sprang  forward,  scattering  the  twigs  and  the 
beds  of  forest-leaves  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen 
among  them. 

But  Horton  could  not  dispel  a  foreboding  of  evil 
as  he  saw  the  form  of  one  whom  he  had  befriended 
in  an  hour  of  need  lurking  among  the  shadows  of 
his  picture,  and  remembered  the  words  which  this 
Harry  Gray  had  uttered  four  years  ago — "Horton,  I 


The  Sanctuaky.  45 

believe  you  are  in  love  with  Kate  Noble.  But  I  ad- 
vise you  to  give  up  tbat  idea.  She  does  not  return 
such  a  sentiment,  and,  even  if  she  did,  you  have 
neither  the  wealth  nor  the  position  to  satisfy  her  ha- 
bitual desires,  her  tastes,  and  her  ambition."  Harry 
Gray  had  wealth  and  position.  Was  he  seeking  the 
heart  of  Kate.  Horton  had  in  his  pocket  letters 
from  home  alluding  to  Gray's  assiduous  attentions  to 
Miss  Noble,  and  a  rumor  had  reached  him  that  they 
were  engaged  to  be  married — a  rumor  little  heeded 
fy  him.  "No  matter,"  thought  he;  "my  duty  is 
clear.  I  am  in  for  the  war  as  long  as  it  lasts,  and 
while  God  spares  my  life  it  shall  be  cast  in  the  bal- 
ance against  treason." 

At  this  moment  his  horse  shied  abruptly,  and, 
glancing  to  the  roadside,  Horton  saw  a  rebel— yes,  a 
genuine,  undoubted  female  rebel,  with  a  formidable 
pair  of  black  eyes,  which  shot  boldly  yet  beseeching- 
ly in  his  direction.  She  was  plainly  dressed  in  gray 
homespun,  with  a  light  red  shawl  drawn  over  her 
finely  moulded  shoulders,  and  which  she  nervously 
gathered  together  with  a  pair  of  small  and  delicate 
white  hands.  Her  little  feet  were  almost  lost  in  a 
pair  of  clumsy  "brogs."  Her  face  was  really  beau- 
tiful, though  Horton,  in  his  surprise,  found  no  time 
for  photographing  it  in  detail. 


-i^  The  Saxctuary. 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here,  -with  no  protector 
but  that  negro  child?     Where  is  your  home?" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  said,  with  sobs  and  tears,  "  there 
are  three  of  your  horrible  soldiers  on  our  place  back 
here.  They  tried  to  force  their  way  into  the  house, 
and  when  we  closed  the  door  against  them,  they 
threatened  to  burn  it  down." 

It  was  not  out  of  his  wa}^,  and  Ilorton  determined 
to  attend  to  the  matter.  They  soon  turned  a  bend 
in  the  road,  and  anived  at  a  small,  mean  dwelling, 
which  looked  as  if  it  might  be  the  residence  of  a 
plantation  overseer.  A  young  girl  of  about  the 
same  age  with  lEorton's  newly-found  acquaintance 
stood  on  the  rickety  porch.  She  repeated  her  sister's 
complaint,  and  insisted  plaintively,  and  with  some 
degree  of  indignation,  that  Horton  should  shoot  some 
soldiers  who  were  busily  engaged  in  the  adjoining 
garden  digging  for  sweet  potatoes. 

Ilorton  concluded,  however,  to  postpone  the  exe- 
cution of  her  wishes  for  a  while,  and  was  watchino- 
with  some  interest  his  orderl}',  Baxter,  who,  leading 
the  horses  to  and  fro,  now  and  then  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  a  handsome,  stalwart  negro  who  had  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene.  Fearing  that  he  had  already 
diverged  too  far  from  his  immediate  duty,  Ilorton 
administered  a  rebuke  to  the  ''bummers"  in  the  s^ar- 


The  Sanctuaky.  47 

den,  and  was  about  to  take  his  departure.  lie  pre- 
pared to  mount,  when  his  movement  was  arrested  by 
the  quick,  low  tones  of  the  orderly — 

"  Be  careful,  captain  ;  there's  a  rebel  officer  in  that 
house." 

"Ungirth  the  saddle  and  take  up  a  hole  or  two 
while  we  are  talking.     Is  he  wounded  ?" 

"No;  he's  a  spy,  who  was  inside  our  lines  last 
night." 

"How  do  you  know  this?" 

"  The  negro—" 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

At  once  Horton  revolved  in  his  mind  the  entire 
situation,  and  decided  upon  the  plan  to  be  pursued. 
Half  a  mile  up  the  road  he  could  see  the  red  turbans 
of  the  "  Zou-zous"  disappearing  in  the  woods.  An 
alarm  would  give  the  spy  an  advantage,  who,  from 
his  concealment,  with  a  pistol,  could  eJfeily  have  re- 
lieved both  captain  and  orderly  from  any  farther 
duty  in  the  Union  service.  No  doubt  he  was  watch- 
ing their  movements  at  this  moment,  and  any  act 
which  would  indicate  on  their  part  any  knowledge 
of  his  presence  might  result  disastrously  to  them 
both,  while  the  spy  would  escape  with  important  in- 
formation as  to  the  movements  of  the  Federal  troops 
on  the  previous  day. 


48  The   SAXCTUAny. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  In  an  attempt  at  capture, 
and  the  fight  which  w^ould  follow,  the  chances  w^ere 
about  equal,  for  the  two  women  were  of  that  daring 
and  romantic  nature  which  w^ould  prompt  them  to 
look  upon  such  an  adventure  as  a  favorable  opportu- 
nity for  a  remarkable  display  of  female  heroism. 
But  the  spy  must  be  captured,  and  there  was  no  time 
for  delay.  As  Baxter  was  tightening  the  girth,  Ilor- 
ton  whispered  to  him, 

"  Take  both  horses  to  the  end  of  the  house,  on  the 
right.  The  rebel  must  be  in  that  room.  Hitch  the 
horses,  if  you  can.  Be  on  the  watch  if  he  attempts 
an  escape,  and,  in  any  event,  act  at  discretion."  He 
could  trust  Baxter,  whom  he  had  seen  before  in  more 
critical  situations  than  the  present. 

Ilorton  walked  up  to  the  house,  while  Baxter  led 
the  horses  toward  the  appointed  destination. 

''I  am  soi^^  to  trouble  3'ou,  ladies,"  he  said,  care- 
lessl}^,  "until  my  orderl}^  repairs  a  slight  damage  in 
my  saddle;"  and  then,  heedless  of  their  affrighted 
faces,  he  rushed  past  them,  entered  the  house,  bolted 
the  door  behind  him,  and,  advancing  with  a  quick 
step,  he  placed  his  heavy  cavalry  boot  against  the 
door  of  the  room  in  which  he  suspected  that  the  spy 
was  hid.  It  gave  way,  and  he  landed,  amid  a  cloud 
of  dust,  in  the  centre  of  the  room.    It  was  very  much 


The  Sanctuary.  49 

as  be  had  apprehended.  The  spy  was  at  that  mo- 
ment thrusting  a  handful  of  papers  into  the  fireplace, 
and  was  holding  in  one  hand  a  lighted  match  for 
their  destruction.  But  he  was  one  moment  too  late. 
Turning  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  Horton's  footstep, 
he  raised  his  pistol  and  fired,  fortunately  for  Ilorton, 
in  great  haste  and  harmlessly.  The  next  moment 
Horton's  sword-point  was  at  his  breast. 

"Surrender,"  shouted  Ilorton,  "or  you're  a  dead 
man!" 

"  Never !"  cried  the  Confederate,  with  an  oath. 

Just  then  the  assailant's  sword-arm  was  arrested 
from  behind ;  a  pair  of  white  arms  hung  about  his 
neck,  and  for  the  instant  he  was  disarmed. 

"Eun,  Albert,  run  for  your  life!"  screamed  the 
black-eyed  friend  of  the  spy. 

But  Albert  seemed  indisposed  to  leave  his  antago- 
nist in  that  interesting  situation.  He  cocked  his  pis- 
tol for  another  shot,  but  seemed  unwilling  to  risk  the 
chance  of  injuring  the  girl,  who  still  hung  heavily 
upon  Horton's  neck.  Muttering  a  fierce  curse,  he 
strode  toward  the  door,  turning  for  a  single  glance 
toward  his  enemj^  TJais  was  a  slight  tactical  error, 
for  Baxter,  hearing  the  pistol-shot,  had  entered  the 
rear  door,  and  had  arrived  upon  the  scene  at  the 

most  interesting  point  in   the  proceedings.     With 

C 


50  The  Sanctuary. 

what  is  tccliiiicall y  known  as  a  "  front  cut,"  he  struck 
at  the  spy's  Lead.  Unfortunately,  his  sabre's  point, 
in  making  the  circle,  came  in  contact  with  the  low 
ceiling  of  the  cabin,  and  the  weapon  fell  harmlessly 
at  his  side.  The  spy  hurled  Baxter  against  the  wall, 
and  dashed  from  the  room.  But  he  now  met  with 
an  unexpected  opponent.  Filling  up  the  outer  door- 
w\ay  stood  the  negro,  whom  he  tried  in  vain  to  turn 
aside.  There  follow^ed  a  brief,  terrible  struggle,  and 
the  spy's  knees  struck  under,  and  he  fell. 

"You  have  killed  him!"  cried  Ilorton,  as  he  ran 
forward  and  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  prostrate  body, 
and  felt  the  inanimate  pulse  of  the  hand,  w^hich  still, 
in  its  rigid  grip,  held  a  glittering  knife. 

"  It  was  my  life  or  his,  sir.     I  know  the  man,"  re- 
plied the  negro,  as  he  thrust  his  bow^ie-knife  into  his 
belt.     "  It's  Nelson,  one  of  the  most  desperate  scouts 
in  the  Confederate  service." 
*'Do  you  belong  to  this  place?" 
"No,  sir;  I  came  here  with  this  man." 
"And  yet  you  killed  him.     There  is  something 
here  which  I  do  not  quite  comprehend.     But  we 
have  no  time  for  explanation.    You  must  come  along 
wnth  me.    I  will  send  a  guard,"  he  said  to  the  fright- 
ened women,  "and  have  this  fellow  buried." 

Gathering  the  papers  scattered  upon  the  hearth 


The  Sanctuary. 


51 


and  all  otlicrs  which  he  could  find  upon  the  lifeless 
body,  Baxter  got  the  horses  in  readiness,  j^id,  with 
Horton  and  the  negro,  who  had  found  a  mule  in  the 
stable,  they  proceeded  on  their  military  errand. 


YI. 

A  S  soon  as  the  party  got  well  out  upon  the  road, 
Horton  called  to  his  orderly — 

''Baxter,  I  shall  ride  on  to  the  Bluffs.  You  will 
remain  behind,  and  come  more  slowly  with  this  man." 

"Yes,  captain." 

And  Horton  was  off  again  through  the  woods  with 
headlong  speed,  nor  did  he  slacken  his  pace  till  he 
reached  the  picket-guard. 

"  Dispatches  for  General  Schoj&eld"  was  his  answer 
to  the  challenge,  and  the  young  officer  pressed  on 
again  until,  at  length,  with  throbbing  flank  and  dis- 
tended nostril,  and  reeking  with  foam,  his  noble  mare 
halted  at  Schofield's  head-quarters.  The  message 
was  delivered,  and,  while  the  answer  was  preparing, 
the  papers  of  the  Confederate  spy  were  examined, 
and  proved  to  be  of  great  value.  Meanwhile  Baxter 
had  reported,  the  negro  was  brought  in,  and,  in  an- 
swer to  the  questions  put  him,  revealed  additional 


The  Sanctuary.  53 

matters  of  importance.  In  a  few  moments  Ilorton 
was  once  more  in  the  saddle.  The  negro  accom- 
panied the  captain  and  his  orderly  on  the  return. 
He  was  a  well-formed,  strong  man,  full  six  feet  in 
height,  and  had  a  remarkable  face.  At  the  first 
glance  little  trace  of  negro  blood  could  have  been 
observed  in  him.  His  hair  was  long  and  almost 
straight,  his  face  was  nearly  white,  oval  in  form,  with 
black  eyes,  and  an  aquiline  nose,  with  no  more  ex- 
pansion of  nostril  than  is  often  found  in  one  of  pure 
Caucasian  blood.  His  lips  were  thin,  his  jaw  square, 
his  chin  round  and  finely  formed.  The  face  seemed 
gentle ;  yet,  as  the  captain  recalled  the  events  of  the 
morning,  he  remembered  an  almost  demoniacal  ex- 
pression in  the  man's  flice  during  the  conflict  with 
the  spy,  no  trace  of  which  was  now  discoverable. 
He  wore  now  an  expression  of  lassitude  and  dejec- 
tion, which  was  evidently  of  a  mental  rather  than  a 
physical  character. 

*' Why  did  you  betray  your  master  this  morning?" 

A  slight  flush  mounted  to  the  man's  forehead  at 
this  abrupt  interrogation,  but  he  looked  firmly  into 
the  eyes  of  his  questioner. 

"  He  was  not  my  master.  I  gave  him  up  because 
he  had  information  of  value  to  these  rebels." 

"  What  is  3^0 ur  name?" 


54  The  Sanctuary. 

"Zimri,  sir." 

"That  is  an  odd  name.  Zimri,  3'ou  have  a  last 
name  ?" 

"  I  am  a  slave,  sir.  I  need  not  tell  you,  therefore, 
that  I  have  never  known  any  name  but  Zimri." 

"  How  came  you  with  that  spy  ?" 

"I  was  sent  by  my  master — my  half-brother,  Gen- 
eral Ealph  Buford,  commanding  a  brigade  of  Wheel- 
er's cavalry." 

"  Does  your  brother  trust  you  so  implicitly  as  to 
permit  you  to  come  into  our  lines  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  think  he  wishes  I  would  never  come 
back." 

"Why?"  asked  Horton,  somewhat  mystified. 

"My  mother,"  replied  Zimri,  "was  a  quadroon, 
and  the  slave  of  our  father.  We  were  nursed  from 
the  same  bosom,  and  grew  to  manhood  on  the  same 
plantation  —  I  the  slave,  and  he  my  brother  and 
master.  A  few  years  ago,  my  brother  married  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  wealthy  planters  of  South 
Carolina.  When  she  came  to  our  home  she  brought 
wnth  her  a  quadroon  girl,  who  was  really  her  mis- 
tress's companion,  though  nominally  a  slave.  Char- 
lotte and  I  loved  each  other,  and  were  married  before 
the  war."  Zimri  stopped  there.  He  seemed  over- 
come with  strong  emotion.    His  face  wore  something 


The  Sanctuary. 


IDO 


of  the  expression  of  tlie  morning,  only  more  intense 
and  violent.  If  there  was  something  more — the  nat- 
ural continuation  of  the  narrative — it  was  evidently 
something  which  Zimri  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak.  lie  seem(|^l  absorbed  in  some  bitter  recollec- 
tion— some  vision  of  the  past  which  troubled  and 
angered  him.  He  recalled  the  too  vivid  picture'  of 
his  master's  first  vision  of  Charlotte,  his  expression 
of  undisguised  admiration  of  her  beauty,  and  the  ill- 
disguised  devil  of  lust  which  lurked  behind  his  ad- 
miration ;  he  traced  through  its  stages  of  increasing 
darkness  the  cloud  which  from  that  moment  settled 
upon  his  life,  but  he  could  not  express  his  thoughts 
in  words.     At  length  he  resumed  his  story : 

"In  the  third  year  of  the  war,  Buford's  regiment 
was  ordered  to  Virginia,  and  for  ten  months  Char- 
lotte and  I  enjoyed  the  great  happiness  of  our  home. 
Then  came  the  day  when  Bragg  was  pressing  the 
starved  army  of  Eosecrans  at  Chattanooga,  and  Long- 
street's  coi-ps  was  transferred  to  the  battle-field  of 
Chickamauga.  Then  followed  the  campaign  which 
resulted  in  Sherman's  capture  of  Atlanta.  It  was 
after  this  conflict,  and  while  the  two  armies  were 
taking  breath,  that  Buford,  promoted  to  a  brigadier 
general,  visited  his  home,  and,  on  his  departure  for 
the  field  again,  he  ordered  my  wife  and  myself  to  go 


56  The  Saxctuary. 

with  bim.  I  entreated  that  Charlotte  might  be  left 
behind.  But  the  general  was  inexorable,  and,  of 
course,  he  had  no  explanation  to  make  to  his  slaves  I" 

"The  fact.is,*'  he  said,  ''you've  had  a  lazy  time  of 
it  on  the  plantation.  You  are  not  geeded  here.  ^  You 
can't  raise  any  cotton.  The  d — d  Yankees  have  shut 
up  all  the  ports,  and  we  can  only  cultivate  bread- 
stuffs.  Overseer  Sam  can  attend  to  the  corn  crop 
and  get  it  in  ;  to-morrow  we  start  for  the  army." 

"Perhaps,"  continued  Zimri,  "you  can  understand 
why  he  intrusts  me  upon  the  most  perilous  expedi- 
tions, and  would  rather  that  I  should  never  return." 

Horton  knew  too  much  of  -the  operation  of  the 
slave  system  on  the  plantation  to  wonder  much  at 
the  revelation  thus  made,  but  he  was  movt  d  none 
the  less  with  sympathy  for  Zimri. 

"And  what  do  jou  propose  to  do  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  must  return  to  the  rebel  lines,  with  your  per- 
mission. I  know  that  there  is  work  for  me  to  do 
there ;"  and  the  expression  of  his  face  indicated  that 
it  was  no  ordinary  work — a  work  of  vengeance  upon 
the  tyrants  of  his  race. 

"1  think  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  your  going 
back,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned ;  I  will  consult  with 
others  about  that;  but  can  you  traverse  the  country 
and  enter  the  enemy's  lines  in  safety?" 


The  Sanctuary.  57 

"  There  is  no  fear  upon  that  point.  I  Lave  a  pass 
wliich  will  protect  me  from  rebel  troops,  and  as  to 
marauders,  tins  knife,"  pointing  to  the  bowie  in  his 
waist-belt,  "is  as  useful  as  your  revolver." 

By  this  time  the  party  had  approaclicd  the  spot 
where  the  pickets  of  the  Union  army  were  stationed 
in  the  morning,  and  where  Horton  had  been  warned 
of  horrible  danger.  To  the  surprise  of  the  latter,  in 
the  place  of  the  shelter-tents  and  the  parked  wagons 
there  was  a  vacant  waste.  A  few  patches  of  cotton, 
which  had  served  as  a  soldier's  couch,  here  and  there 
whitened  the  ground  ;  the  remains  of  the  carcasses  of 
beeves  attracted  several  hungry-looking  curs;  a  few 
camp-fires  were  still  smouldering  on  the  field,  but  the 
army  had  gone. 

Ilorton,  after  a  moment's  thought,  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  card,  and  wrote, 

"The  bearer  is  my  servant  Zimri.  Guards  and 
pickets  will  pass  him  through  our  lines.  * 

"Alfred  Horton,  Capt. U. S.  A.  and  A. D.  C." 

Giving  this  to  Zimri,  he  said, 

"I  am  reposing  a  trust  in  you  which,  of  course,  I 

believe  is  deserved.     I  shall  not  venture  to  advise 

you  as  to  your  present  sad  situation,  but  whenever 
0  2 


58 


TuE  Saxctuauy. 


you  wish,  come  to  this  arm^^,  and,  if  I  am  alive,  you 
will  find  in  me  a  friend." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  You  may  see  me  again  some 
time." 

Thus  Horton  parted  with  Zimri.  Baxter  in  tne 
mean  while  had  learned  from  a  straggler  the  direc- 
tion of  the  army.  As  Horton  turned  off  from  the 
road  to  cross  the  bridge  which  spanned  the  Chattoo- 
ga, he  could  see  Zimri  on  the  western  hill-top,  his 
erect  form  cut  sharp  and  clear  against  the  rich  twi- 
light sky,  and  then  it  suddenly  disappeared  behind  a 
projecting  rock.  It  was  for  into  the  night  when  the 
captain  and  his  companion  reached  the  camp,  and 
there  he  heard  that  the  final  order  had  been  issued 
for  the  great  March  to  the  Sea. 


VI  I. 

SWEDENBORG  says,  in  his  "True  Christian  Rc- 
lio-jon,"  "Tlie  Africans  excel  all  other  Gentiles 
in  clearness  of  interior  judgment."  Whether  or  not 
the  great  Swedish  seer  ever  penetrated  the  mysteries 
of  the  spiritual  world,  or  whether  this  view  of  the 
African  race  is  to  be  accepted  as  an  inspired  truth, 
certain  it  is,  both  from  the  universal  testimony  of 
their  masters  and  from  all  the  experiences  of  the 
war,  that  the  mind  of  the  negro  race,  as  it  has  ex- 
hibited itself  in  the  South  of  America,  is  receptive, 
sympathetic,  and  affectionate  in  the  highest  degree. 
Their  acquiescence  in  a  condition  of  absolute  servi- 
tude is  not  l^y  any  means  to  be  attributed,  as  it  so 
often  is,  to  an  inherent  and  hereditarj^  meanness  of 
spirit,  but  partly  to  their  trust  that  God  would  set 
them  free  in  His  own  good  time,  and  to  their  gentle 
and  impressionable  nature.  Though  in  the  early 
days  of  the  war  it  was  confidently  predicted  that  the 


<><>  The  Sanctuahy. 

negroes  would  rise  in  insurrection  upon  the  first  op- 
portunity, there  is  no  evidence  of  any  attempt  on 
their  part  to  throw  off  their  yoke  by  rising  against 
their  masters,  even  after  the  Emancipation  Proclama- 
tion was  issued,  the  knowledge  of  which,  in  a  few 
days,  had  spread  over  every  plantation  in  the  South. 
The  truth  is,  there  was  a  philosophy,  or  what  Swe- 
denborg  calls  a  clearness  of  interior  judgment,  in 
the  negro  character,  which  was  never  understood  by 
the  masters,  on  account  of  the  servile  circumstances 
which  partially  stifled  and  wholly  disguised  its  de- 
velopment. 

Because  the  negro  was  led  by  the  Christian  faith, 
which  took  deep  root  in  his  gentle,  yielding  heart,  to 
displaj^  unexampled  forbearance,  it  must  not  there- 
fore be  supposed  that  he  was  destitute  of  the  stronger 
elements  of  human  nature.  These  also  were  per- 
verted and  disguised  by  their  servitude.  As  the 
affection  of  a  slave  is  lowh^,  and  seems  therefore  of 
a  baser  sort,  so  his  pride,  from  the  very  necessit}^  of 
concealment,  creeps  rather  than  climbs,  and  not  un- 
frequently  assumes  the  mask  of  revenge,  sinTply  be- 
cause, being  pressed  down  to  the  earth,  and  driven 
into  dark  ways,  it  naturall}^  uses  base  means  for  the 
accomplishment  of  its  ends. 

Zimri  was  an  exceptional  character  under  the  slave 


The  Sanctuary.  61 

system.  Altlioiigh  less  than  tLrce  fourths  white,  he 
gave  few  external  indications  of  African  descent. 
Usually  his  nature  was  gentle,  almost  as  a  woman's, 
but  from  his  father  he  had  inherited — unhappily  for 
one  doomed  to  slavery  —  a  proud  determination, 
which,  under  other  circumstances,  might  have  won 
him  success  and  fame  in  almost  any  sphere  of  life, 
but  which,  in  slavery,  proved  a  curse. 

When  Zimri  left  Captain  Hortou,  he  traveled  wcst- 
w^ard,  directly  across  the  hills  and  through  the  woods, 
avoiding  the  main  roads  and  even  the  forest  paths, 
for  he  had  no  desire  to  come  into  contact  with  de- 
tachments or  foraging  parties  of  either  arm}^  He 
journeyed  thus  for  hours  steadily  on,  until  he  came 
upon  a  road  wdiich,  from  the  distance  he  had  trav- 
ersed, he  felt  sure  must  be  the  route  leading  north 
from  Gadsden,  where,  three  days  before,  he  had  left 
Hood's  arm}'.  Dismounting  from  his  mule,  he  ex- 
amined by  the  moonlight  the  w\ngon  tracks  which 
here  and  there  had  cut  deep  into  the  yielding  earth. 
The  footmarks  all  pointed  northward,  but  Zimii  had 
doubts  to  which  army  they  belonged.  Leading  his 
patient  mule  by  the  bridle,  he  w\nlked  along  the  road 
for  several  rods,  when  he  came  upon  the  carcass  of  a 
mule  who,  worn  out  wnth  a  too  exhausting  pilgrim- 
age, had  sunk  down  and  died  by  the  roadside.     Lift- 


G2  The  Saxctl'aky. 

ing  one  of  its  feet,  Zimri  counted  the  nails  in  its 
shoes.  "  One,  two,  three  on  a  side.  The  Yankees 
are  more  generous  with  their  heel-taps.  The  rebels 
must  have  passed  here,  and  not  long  since  cither,  for 
the  body  of  the  poor  beast  is  scarcely  cold." 

The  sun  had  risen  above  the  mountain-tops  behind 
him  ere  Zimri  came  upon  the  pickets  guarding  the 
rear  of  Hood's  army. 

"  Oh,  it's  onlv  that  cursed  white  nifrcrer  of  the  !]fen- 
eral's,"  remarked  a  sentinel  to  a  companion. 

"  You've  come  to  the  right  place,  nig.  Yer  mas- 
ter's in  that  ar  cabin  yonder  across  the  creek." 

"  Yes,  I  see  the  house.  Have  there  been  any  Yan- 
kees round  here?" 

'^  Nary  a  Yank.  The  blue-bellies  keep  clar  of  the 
Eattlesnake  Brigade.  Cuss  'em,  they  don't  like  the 
smell  of  powder — hey,  Smithers?"  The  last  part  of 
this  remark  was  addressed  to  a  comrade,  for  Zimri 
had  pushed  on  toward  the  house,  which  could  be 
seen  in  the  middle  of  a  patch  of  cleared  ground  a 
few  hundred  j^ards  up  the  road.  As  he  approached 
the  place  he  noticed  an  unusual  bustle,  betokening  a 
hasty  movement  forward.  A  trumpeter  stood  near 
the  corner  of  the  house,  ringing  out  from  his  bugle, 
in  shrill  notes,  the  call,  "To  boot  and  saddle."  On 
the  roadside,  and  in  the  meadow  bordering  upon  the 


Tke  Sanctuahy.  63 

creek,  hundreds  of  men  were  gathering  in  haste,  pre- 
paring to  mount.  Negroes  were  rushing  about  the 
yard,  and  in  and  out  of  the  cabin,  packing  mess- 
chests  in  the  wagons,  with  other  camp  equijDage.  In 
front  of  the  house,  booted  and  spurred,  stood  a  tall 
man  of  dark  complexion,  whose  dress  of  gray  cloth 
bore  the  insignia  of  a  general  of  cavalry.  Long  and^ 
thin  black  hair  fell  in  profusion  over  his  shoulders. 
In  his  hands,  small  as  a  woman's,  he  held  a  paper, 
which  he  was  reading  attentively.  The  most  pecul- 
iar feature  of  this  altogether  striking  physiognomy 
was  the  nose.  It  did  not  seem  to  belong  of  right  to 
the  face,  which  had  a  haughty  and  despotic  expres- 
sion. It  was  broad  and  flat,  as  if  it  had  been  bor- 
rowed from  the  blackest  negro  about  the  camp. 
This  was  General  Ealph  Buford.  And  he  had  come 
by  his  nose  legitimately,  for  his  grandmother  had 
been  one  of  a  class  who  are  by  courtesy  designated 
as  "  Creole."  By  that  inexplicable  freak  of  nature 
which  causes  a  physical  or  mental  characteristic  to 
leap  over  one  generation  and  then  reappear,  the  Af- 
rican blood  of  his  ancestors  boldly  proclaimed  itself 
in  General  Buford's  most  prominent  feature.  Look- 
ing at  the  two  brothers,  a  stranger  would  have  found 
it  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the  master  and 
which  the  slave. 


64  The  Sanctuary. 

As  Zimri  passed  up  a  side-path  leading  to  the  rear 
of  the  house,  he  gave  little  heed  to  the  presence  of 
the  general,  for  his  quick  eye  had  caught  sight  of  a 
flattering  handkerchief  waved  by  Charlotte  in  token 
of  recognition.  He  had  scarcel}^  dismounted  before 
his  wife,  running  from  the  shelter  of  a  tent,  had 
^caught  him  in  her  arms,  exclaiming,  in  broken  words 
of  love  and  gladness, 

"Ob,  Zimri!  thank  God  you's  come  back.  I  was 
afraid  you  might  be  killed  or  wounded.  You's  come 
back  now.     Oh,  don't  go  away  again !" 

Zimri  made  no  answer,  but  pressed  her  in  silence, 
and  almost  convulsively,  to  his  heart,  and  then,  hold- 
ing her  away,  looked  into  her  face  with  his  tender, 
searching  eyes.  In  truth  it  was  a  lovely  picture,  as 
she  stood  there  with  the  rich  blood  mantling  her 
neck  and  face  to  the  temples,  and  as  the  flush  died 
away,  leaving  a  golden  light  upon  her  countenance, 
as  if  the  sunlight  had  just  passed  over  and  kissed  it. 
Her  dress  of  coarse  homespun  showed  marks  of  camp 
life,  but  its  dinginess  could  not  disguise  her  beaut}^, 
nor  conceal  the  contour  of  her  graceful  form ;  while 
her  eyes,  which  were  neither  black  nor  brown,  but 
black  and  brown — a  golden  color — modestlj^  droop- 
ing, shone  out  with  a  clear  pure  light,  which  banish- 
ed from  her  husband's  mind  all  doubt  and  misgiving. 
His  voice  trembled  as  he  said. 


The  Sanctuary.  65 

"  Charlotte,  if  I  had  my  own  wa}^,  we  should  never 
be  parted  from  each  other.  Only  twice  have  I  met 
and  caressed  you  thus  since  we  left  the  plantation, 
but  you  know  it  is  no  fault  of  mine." 

Charlotte  was  really  glad  to  see  her  husband,  and 
would  gladly  have  fled  with*  him  any  where,  even 
into  the  lines  of  the  Union  army.  But  their  meeting 
was  soon  interrupted  by  a  higher  power,  which  claim- 
ed submission  from  them  both. 

"General,  I  see  your  man  Zimri  has  come  back," 
said  Major  Ghilson,  w^ho  stood  near  Buford,  giving 
orders  to  those  about  him. 

"  Zimri !"  shouted  the  general,  his  eyes  angrily 
resting  upon  the  couple,  whom  he  had  for  the  first 
time  discovered,  "come  here!" 

Zimri  did  not  answer  immediatel}^,  but,  drawing 
Charlotte  closer  to  him,  kissed  her  most  tenderly  and 
affectionately. 

"  We  will  escape,  if  it  is  possible,"  he  said,  and 
then  advanced  to  where  his  brother  stood,  whose 
thin  lips  and  distended  nostrils  gave  evidence  of  un- 
controllable passion  and  rage. 

"  When  did  you  come  back  from  the  scout?" 


o-'" 


"  Five  minutes  a^ro 


"Is  Nelson  here?" 
"No,  sir." 


GQ  The  Sanctuary. 

''Where  did  you  leave  him?"' 

"Back  near  the  Coosa.  We  were  attacked,  be- 
came separated,  and  I  escaped." 

"Yes,  you  manage  always  to  return  with  a  whole 
skin.  Which  way  were  the  d — d  Yankees  mov- 
ing?" 

"  It  was  impossible  to  ascertain." 

Buford  was  disappointed,  and  in  the  worst  of  hu- 
mors. But  he  had  just  received  explicit  orders  from 
Hood  indicating  that  a  column  of  the  enemy  was 
moving  toward  Chattanooga,  and  that  there  was  a 
rumor  that  a  still  larger  column  was  somewhere  in 
the  vicinity  of  Eome,  and  commanding  him  to  report 
to  Wheeler  at  once,  who  had  been  instructed  to  keep 
in  front  of  this  latter  column  in  the  event  of  its  mov- 
ing southward.  He  had  no  time,  therefore,  to  waste 
upon  Zimri. 

"Ghilson,  I  want  you  to  move  your  regiment 
south  of  the  Coosa.     I  shall  follow  quickl3^" 

"Zimri,  j'ou  will  go  with  Ghilson.  Charlotte  will 
follow  with  my  head-quarters." 

Zimri  made  no  answer,  but  there  was  that  in  his 
face  which  his  master  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  in- 
terpret, but  which  surely  boded  the  latter  no  good, 
and  was  in  strikino-  contrast  with  the  slave's  submis- 

o 

sive  silence. 


The  Sanctuary. 


67 


And  so  Zimri  rode  off  with  Gbilson,  unable  to 
speak  one  word  of  hope  or  encouragement  to  Char- 
lotte. Many  weary  weeks  and  months  of  suffering 
passed  before  he  saw  her  again,  and  then — 


yiiL 

'lVTAPOLEOiSI''S  maxim,  that  "an  army  may  pass 
■^^  wherever  a  man  can  plant  liis  foot/'  is  of  easier 
application  to  the  mountainous  district  of  which  he 
was  speaking  than  to  the  swamps  and  marshes  before 
Savannah,  where  Sherman's  army  settled  down  after 
the  bold  march  from  Atlanta. 

These  morasses  stretch  away  on  a  dead  level  for 
many  miles  from  the  sea-coast.  Here  and  there  by 
some  river's  side,  a  bluif,  formed  perhaps  ages  ago 
by  the  action  of  the  sea,  raises  its  head  above  the 
monotonous  level,  but  with  these  rare  exceptions  the 
country  was  low,  and  covered  with  the  decayed  veg- 
etation of  centuries.  The  sun  of  this  tropical  climate, 
and  an  unfailing  supply  of  water,  have  caused  the 
growth  of  the  most  luxuriant  foliage.  Vast  forests 
of  pine,  groves  of  live-oak  and  water-oak,  clusters 
of  the  beautiful  magnolia,  of  the  gloomy  cypress,  and 
of  the  ugly  and  unfruitful  palmetto,  with  a  thousand 


The  Sanctuahy.  G9 

varieties  of  weed  matted  together  into  an  almost  im- 
penetrable undergrowth,  encompassed  the  army  in 
its  march  through  this  region.  In  the  summer  sea- 
son, this  luxuriant  combination  of  curious  and  ever- 
varying  shapes  wath  the  most  magical  colors  must 
appear  like  a  miracle  of  beauty.  But  in  the  Decem- 
ber of  1864,  when  the  Korthern  army  traversed  these 
illimitable  marshes,  the  spectacle  was  unattractive. 
For  many  miles  the  roads  —  or,  rather,  the  raised 
causeways — led  through,  these  gloomy  shades  in  un- 
deviating  straight  lines.  The  w^eary  soldier  found  it 
impossible  to  turn  aside  to  right  or  left,  for  on  either 
side  of  him  lay  the  treacherous  swamp.  Here  and 
there,  at  wdde  intervals,  upon  some  oasis  in  the  dreary 
desert,  a  few  negro  cabins  marked  the  site  of  a  rice 
or  a  cotton  plantation,  affording  relief  both  to  the 
eye  and  to  the  weary  feet  of  the  wanderers.  Off  to 
the  right,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Ogeechee,  wxre  open 
rice-fields,  througb  whicli  ran  numerous  canals  used 
for  flooding  the  rice  at  certain  stages  of  its  growth. 
Eaised  causeways,  carefully  constructed,  traversed 
these  plantations,  leading  from  the  negro  quarters  to 
the  various  mills  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  small 
stream.s. 

It  is  true  that  up  to  this  point  the  army  had  en- 
joyed an  uninterrupted  succession  of  holidays,  living 


70  The   Saxctuaky. 

upon  turkeys,  chickens,  and  "soft-tack,''  as  the  sol- 
diers term  the  bread  which  they  make  for  them- 
selves. But  the  transportation  was  limited,  and  the 
abundant  supply  of  food  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the 
march  could  not  be  made  available  for  any  future 
needs ;  and  although  Sherman  had  foreseen  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  an  emergency  as  now  arose,  and  had 
given  repeated  instructions  to  the  subordinate  com- 
manders always  to  keep  the  supplj- -trains  full,  and  to 
issue  rations  from  them  only  when  it  vras  absolute- 
ly necessary,  3'et,  when  the  necessitj^  came,  these  sup- 
plies were  soon  exhausted.  The  sixty  thousand  sol- 
diers, twenty  thousand  black  refugees,  and  the  horses, 
mules,  and  cattle,  quickly  emptied  the  wagons.  Act- 
ual suffering  there  was  none,  because  there  was  plen- 
ty of  rice  and  a  large  number  of  beeves;  yet  rice  and 
beef  formed  a  diet  whose  long  continuance  would 
soon  have  decimated  the  ranks.  The  change  from 
abundance  to  scarcity  was  marked,  and  produced 
much  illness  and  demoralization.  Bat,  under  all 
difficulties,  the  army  was  saved  from  perilous  discon- 
tent by  the  sublime  faith  which  it  had  in  its  great 
leader. 

Colonel  Barnard's  brigade  formed  a  part  of  the  ex- 
treme left  of  the  line  toward  the  Ogeechee.  The 
plantation  on  which  his  camp  was  located  afforded 


The   Sanctuaky.  7X 

little  in  the  way  of  forage;  the  reserved  rations  Lad 
been  consumed,  and  both  the  men  and  the  cattle 
were  compelled  to  resort  to  the  rice  and  rice-straw 
left  on  the  place  in  large  quantities. 

The  colonel,  with  several  of  his  officers,  one  even- 
ing sat  w\atching  a  group  of  soldiers  and  negroes  who 
were  pounding  the  rice  in  big  mortars  made  from  the 
trunks  of  trees. 

"These  mortars  come  into  good  play  just  now. 
since  our  soldiers  can  not  have  patent  labor-saving 
machines  to  carry  with  them,"  said  Oakland.  "See 
that  soldier  there,  he's  making  the  most  out  of4he 
situation." 

The  soldier  referred  to  had  cut  a  bit  of  pork  from 
a  hog  slaughtered  not  ten  minutes  before.  This  he 
was  now.  frying  in  a  tin  plate,  dexterously  balanced 
between  two  logs,  over  a  bed  of  live  coals.  Into  the 
pan  he  poured  the  bruised  rice,  which  had  been  mix- 
ed into  a  sort  of  paste.  The  batter  was  soon  nicely 
browned  and  removed,  making  w\ay  for  a  slice  of 
fresh  beef.  This  cooked,  a  kettle  of  boiling  coffee 
w\as  lifted  from  the  fire,  and  a  plain  but  delectable 
meal  was  set  before  the  small  group  of  soldiers. 

The  notice  of  the  officers  was  soon  diverted  from 
this  and  other  similar  scenes  of  the  hour  by  the 
sound  of  heavy  artillery  and  musketry  firing  in  the 


72  The  Sanctuary. 

direction  of  the  front,  filling  the  woods  with  a  thou- 
sand sharp  and  resonant  echoes. 

"  We  must  see  what  this  means,"  said  Barnard, 
turning  toward  Oakland;  but  his  young  adjutant 
had  already  started  up  the  pathway  cut  through  the 
bushes,  and  leading  to  the  trenches. 

'Til  go  with  you,  colonel,"  said  Leveridge,  as  he 
threw  into  the  fire  the  blazing  brand  from  which  he 
had  lighted  his  pipe. 

As  the  two  officers  strode  away  into  the  timber, 
the  firing,  which  had  lulled  for  an  instant,  burst 
forth  afresh.  Screaming  shells  whirled  and  smashed 
through  the  branches  of  the  trees  overhead,  while 
the  z-z-z-ip  of  some  overshot  bullet  sped  pleasantly 
and  harmlessly  along  among  the  leaves  and  twigs. 
Very  soon  they  encountered  wounded  men-  limping 
along,  and  then  the  stretchers  with  their  freight  of 
men  hurt  to  the  death. 

''Are  you  badly  hurt,  Morton?"  asked  Barnard  of 
a  solitary  soldier  leaning  against  a  tree  for  partial 
support,  the  red  blood  streaming  down  his  fiice  from 
a  wound  in  the  forehead. 

"  iSTo,  colonel,  thank  you.  It's  only  a  flesh-wound; 
but  the  bandage  came  off." 

"  What's  the  row  out  there  ?" 

"Our  picket  line  saw  an  opening,  and  made  for 


The  Sanctuary.  73 

the  enemy's  rifle-pits,  and,  by  George !  we  got  'em. 
They're  trying  to  take  'em  back,  but  they'll  have  a 
tough  job  of  it." 

The  two  oflScers  were  approaching  a  dangerous 
quarter,  and  were  obliged  to  creep  along  for  a  little 
distance  to  a  line  of  earth-works,  behind  which  lay  a 
long  line  of  soldiers,  who  were  taking  an  active  part 
in  the  engagement. 

"What's  the  situation,  major?"  asked  Barnard  of 
an  officer  busily  engaged  in  giving  orders  to  the  com- 
mand, 

"  Well,  you  see,"  replied  the  officer,  "  the  Eebs 
have  been  trying  to  drive  back  our  picket  line,  to 
prevent  our  shutting  up  that  sixty-four  pounder 
which  bothered  us  so  much  yesterday.  The  hoys 
are  a  little  mad,  and  have  been  giving  them  '  Hail 
Columbia,'  driving  them  back  thus  far,  and  I  think 
we  can  hold  our  own,  though  it's  an  important  posi- 
tion for  them  to  recover.  We've  got  the  dead  wood 
on  'em,  sir,  if  you  can  get  up  the  right  of  the  line. 
Our  left  rests  on  a  swamp  as  rotten  as  the  cursed 
Confederacy." 

''You've  done  a  splendid  thing,  major;  but  we 
must  cover  the  right,  or  they'll  find  our  weak  spot, 
and  double  on  us." 

"  No  fear  for  to-night,  colonel.    They've  made  two 
D 


7-i  The  Sanctuary. 

assaults,  and  about  as  many  have  taken  up  ground 
in  eternity  as  went  back." 

The  prostrate  figures  in  gray  and  brown  uniforms 
in  the  stubble-field  just  ahead  corroborated  the  state- 
ment of  the  major. 

'*  Barnard,"  said  Leveridge,  "  I  am  going  back,  and 
will  report  the  situation  to  the  general,  and  you  shall 
have  all  the  support  you  want  in  less  than  half  an 
hour." 

"Oakland,"  said  Barnard,  "you'd  better  go  with 
Leveridge." 

As  Oakland  moved  away  from  under  the  hottest 
fire,  he  saw  one  Kelly,  a  private  of  his  regiment,  who 
had  established  a  reputation  for  cowardice  which 
was  unworthy  his  Irish  blood.  He  was  accompany- 
ing to  the  rear  a  soldier  who  had  received  a  flesh- 
wound  in  the  arm. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Kelly  ?"  he  asked.  "  You 
are  wanted  here.  Don't  you  see  the  rebels  coming 
again  ?" 

"  Yis,  I  say  the  murthering  blackguards,"  answer- 
ed the  frightened  Irishman,  ducking  his  head  to  a 
•twelve-pound  round-shot.  "Shure  an'  don't  I  both 
say  and  hear?  but — oh.  Holy  Mother,  protect  me! — 
you  wouldn't  have  me  leave  a  wounded  comrade  to 
die  upon  the  faild  of  battle,  would  you?" 


The  Sanctuary.  75 

"  Kelly,  you  are  a  disgrace  to  the  regiment.  You 
are  not  seriously  wounded?"  turning  to  the  comrade 
whom  Kelly  had  taken  in  charge. 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  did  not  see  Kelly 
until  I  had  reached  the  timber.  It's  all  humbug 
about  his  helping  me,  colonel." 

"  I  thought  so.  As  you  pass  head-quarters,  give 
him  over  to  the  guard." 

The  assistance  which  Leveridge  had  promised  was 
soon  sent  to  Barnard,  who,  with  this  support,  was 
able  to  keep  his  new  vantage-ground. 

Upon  his  return  to  camp,  Oakland  made  it  one 
of  his  first  duties  to  look  after  the  recreant  Kelly. 
This  fellow  had  been  severely  punished  upon  several 
occasions  for  cowardice  and  drunkenness.  He  pos- 
sessed few  of  the  virtues  of  his  countrymen,  and 
many  of  their  vices.  Remarkably  reticent  and  shy 
during  an  engagement,  after  the  danger  was  all  over 
he  gave  full  play  to  his  tongue  and  to  his  imagina- 
tion, describing  feats  of  valor  performed  by  himself 
which  were  more  remarkable  than  the  deeds  of  San- 
cho  Panza. 

On  this  particular  night,  Kelly  and  a  brother  Mi- 
lesian had  obtained  some  apple-jack,  and  found  them- 
selves joyously  drunk  in  a  guard-tent. 

Oakland  had  snatched  a  few  hours'  sleep,  and  was 


76  The  Sanctuary. 

walking  back  and  forth  with  anxious  thought.  The 
shouts  of  the  victory  of  the  afternoon  could  not  hush 
the  night-wind,  which  brought  to  his  ears  the  moans 
of  wounded  and  dying  men,  broken  in  upon  continu- 
ally by  the  firing  of  the  faithful  pickets,  or  the  smoth- 
ered distant  boom  of  cannon. 

He  had  several  times  checked  the  boisterous  noise 
of  the  drunken  Irishmen.  By-and-by  their  talk  was 
carried  on  in  a  lower  tone — 

"I  say,"  whispered  Kelly,  "O'Brien,  are  you  aslape 
at  such  a  time?  Don't  you  hear  the  roar  of  the  ine- 
my's  cannon?" 

"  Oh,  bother  the  inemy's  cannon.  Don't  I  know 
that  I'm  in  the  guard-house  for  getthing  thrunk  ?" 

"An'  you're  right  there,  my  boy.  It  all  comes  o' 
them  officers.  An'  sure,  ar'n't  they  stuck  up  all  the 
while — a  puttin'  on  airs  as  if  they  owned  the  whorld  ? 
Faith,  O'Brien,  the  soldiers  and  officers  nowadays  are 
not  so  patriotic  and  self-sacrificing  as  the  heroes  of 
the  Revolution  were.  Didn't  they  give  up  the  last 
cint,  and  sujffer  ?  Arrah,  there  was  no  six-hoss  mule 
transportation-wagons  in  them  days.  Shure,  O'Brien, 
and  didn't  George  Washington,  the  fay  ther,  sir,  of  his 
counthry,  walk  inter  the  city  of  Boston  with  his  va- 
leese  in  his  hand?" 

"You  say  that  Gineral  Washington  walked  inter 


The  Sanctuary.  77 

the  strates  of  Boston  with  a  valeese  in  his  hand? 
Now,  how  do  you  know  that,  Kelly?  Shure  an'  you 
wasn't  there." 

This  rather  bothered  Kelly  for  a  moment,  but  he 
rallied  and  said, 

"  N"oa,  but  me  forefaythers  wos,  thank  God." 

Soon,  by  the  capture  of  Fort  McAllister,  the  sole 
hinderance  to  the  outlet  seaward  had  been  overcome. 
Just  after  this  event,  a  party  of  officers,  several  par- 
ticipants, and  others,  witnesses  of  the  grand  achieve- 
ment, were  threading  their  way  among  the  dead  and 
wounded,  who  lay  as  they  fell  near  the  fort.  They 
were  escorted  by  an  orderly  through  the  mesh  of 
limbs  of  trees  which  had  been  thrown  together  for 
an  abatis,  and  through  the  thickly-planted  torpedoes, 
and  were  then  guided  to  a  light  foot-bridge  which 
spanned  the  wide  ditch,  and  led  to  the  sally-port 
cut  in  the  parapet. 

"  There  is  a  row-boat  moored  in'  the  river  near 
the  fort?"  said  the  commanding  general  of  the  army, 
who  spoke  as  if  he  knew  that  a  boat  ought  to  be 
there. 

''Yes,  general." 

"Select  four  good  men  to  man  the  boat.  I  must 
go  down  the  river,"  he  continued,  addressing  one  of 


78  The  Sanctuary. 

his  principal  subordinate  ofl&cers,  "and  find  the 
steamer  which  we  signaled  this  afternoon.  Our 
communication  with  the  fleet  must  be  established  at 
once." 

It  was  a  hazardous  undertaking  for  the  general  to 
face  the  peril  of  guerrillas  along  the  banks,  and  the 
still  more  dangerous  torpedoes  in  the  river.  He  was 
not  familiar  with  the  windings  of  the  stream  even  in 
the  daytime.  For  all  that,  he  certainly  knew  the 
boat  might  as  easily  lose  its  way,  and  ascend  some 
bay  or  estuary  into  the  enemy's  lines,  as  go  directly 
to  the  little  steamer,  which  lay,  an  undistinguishable 
spot,  upon  the  water  many  miles  toward  Ossibaw 
Sound.  "  But,"  said  he,  as  some  of  his  staff  alluded 
to  the  perils  of  the  expedition,  "over  there  in  those 
swamps  are  sixty  thousand  of  my  men,  who  are  hun- 
gry to-night.  I  must  see  for  myself  what  means  are 
provided  for  giving  them  food.  Besides,  danger  is 
the  rule  and  not  the  exception  in  our  soldier-life,  3'ou 
know." 

Hardly  had  the  words  been  spoken  when  a  loud 
explosion  was  heard  immediately  behind  the  group. 
All  turned  quickly  at  the  sound,  and  saw  a  stream 
of  flame  shoot  up  from  the  earth  into  the  darkness, 
and  by  its  lurid  light  could  be  distinguished  the  ago- 
nized face  and  mano:led  form  of  a  soldier  who  had 


The  Sanctuary.  79 

trod  upon  one  of  the  buried  torpedoes.  It  was  a  sig- 
nificant response  to  tlie  sentiment  just  expressed  by 
the  general,  and  no  one  ventured  to  break  the  silence, 
but  all  watched  with  bated  breath  the  preparations 
for  launching  the  boat.  In  a  few  moments  all  was 
ready,  and  the  general  descended  the  bank  and  en- 
tered the  boat,  accomjDanied  only  by  the  distinguish- 
ed commander  of  his  right  wing.  That  officer,  al- 
ways calm,  brave,  and  just,  called  out  to  the  group 
upon  the  shore,  and  said,  "Gentlemen,. if  we  should 
not  return,  you  will  remember  that  General  Slocum 
is  in  command  of  this  army.  Good-night !"  and  the 
boat,  with  its  precious  freight,  shot  off  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

Horton  wandered  away  from  the  party  of  officers 
to  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  on  one  of  the  sides  which 
had  been  assaulted  that  day.  Bomb-proofs  and  trav- 
erses loomed  up  against  a  sky  partially  illumined 
by  the  moonlight.  At  his  feet,  dark,  placid,  and 
treacherous,  ran  the  Ogeechee.  "Within  the  fort, 
around  flickering  fires,  leaning  against  ponderous 
cannon,  were  groups  of  soldiers,  talking  over  the  ex- 
citing incidents  of  the  day.  Stretched  upon  the 
ground  all  around  him  lay  dead  and  dying  men. 
Just  at  his 'feet,  dressed  in  Union  blue,  lay  a  sergeant 
of  the  line.     His  white  face  wore  a  sweet  and  gentle 


80  The  Sanctuary. 

expression,  and,  but  for  the  fixed  stare  of  the  eyes, 
one  would  have  thought  him  sleeping.  He  lay  just 
as  he  had  fallen  when  he  received  that  ragged  wound 
near  the  heart. 

It  was  a  weird  and  solemn  spectacle,  and,  as  Hor- 
ton  gazed  around  and  down  into  the  face  of  the  dead, 
an  indescribable  awe  crept  over  him.  Finally,  as  if 
seeking  a  contrast  to  such  terrible  scenes,  his  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  dear  old  home.  Again  he  lived  over 
the  parting  scene  with  Kate  in  the  library;  again 
the  words  of  the  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired  girl  sound- 
ed in  his  ears,  "You  will  come  back  to  me.  God 
bless  you !" — and  again,  also,  more  vividly  than  ever 
before,  he  saw  another  face  intruding  itself  upon  the 
picture.  It  was  a  selfish  face,  and,  as  Horton  recalled 
it,  the  man  to  whom  it  belonged  seemed  to  be  telling 
some  story  of  meanness  or  dishonor,  for  his  lips  wore 
a  cold,  cynical  sneer,  while  his  eyes  gleamed  with  a 
wicked  stare,  as  if  he  were  glad  to  pierce  and  crush 
the  fresh-blooming  flower  before  him,  while  she,  de- 
fiant, yet  in  tears,  repelled  the  accusation. 

About  midnight  the  general  returned  up  the  river. 
He  had  succeeded  in  communicating  with  the  fleet. 
In  three  days  from  that  time,  Captain  Boutelle,  of  the 
Coast  Survey,  had  removed  a  score  of  torpedoes  from 
the  river,  and  steam-boats,  heavily  laden  with  army 


The  Sanctuary.  q-, 

supplies  of  every  description,  came  safely  up  the  tor- 
tuous  chaanel  to  King's  Bridge,  where  suitable  pre; 

bution  of  their  welcome  freight. 
D2 


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IX. 

A  T  this  moment,  when  Savannah  was  almost,  but 
•^-^  not  quite  in  the  possession  of  the  Union  army, 
let  us  enter  the  streets  of  the  beleaguered  city,  and, 
shutting  our  ears  to  the  rumors  of  every  sort  that  are 
flying  as  fast  and  as  tumultuously  as  the  Confederate 
cavalry,  this  way  and  that,  over  the  city,  let  us  follow 
the  footsteps  of  Agnes  Saumur  as  she  moves  along 
Bull  Street,  then  down  Brighton,  and  across  the  mar- 
ket square  out  toward  the  stockade,  near  the  railroad 
depot.     She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  closely  veiled. 

"You  can't  see  any  o^the  pris'ners  to-day,  ma'am," 
was  the  response  of  the  sentinel,  as  she  was  about  to 
enter  the  gate. 

"You  do  not  recognize  me.  I  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  coming  here  for  two  years  past." 

"  I  know'd  you  well  'nuff,  but  thar's  a  new  officer 
in  command.  He  says  thar's  too  much  of  this  stuffin' 
the  cursed  Yanks.     He's  put  a  stop  to  it." 


The  Sanctuary.  83 

"Where  is  the  officer?  May  I  not  be  permitted 
to  speak  to  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  he'll  see  you.  He  likes  ter  look  at  pretty 
wimmen.  We  found  that  out  soon  'nuff.  That's  his 
office,  near  that  gun,  ter  the  rig^it." 

Agnes  gathered  her  veil  still  closer  about  her  face, 
and,  having  been  admitted  to  the  officer's  quarters, 
and  glanced  at  the  face  of  its  military  occupant,  she 
would  have  retreated,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  Can  I  be  of  service  to  you,  madam  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  wish  to  visit  a  prisoner  under  your 
charge." 

"That,  I  regret  to  say,  madam,  is  against  the 
rules,"  said  the  officer,  while  he  sought  to  penetrate 
the  thick  crape  veil  which  concealed  the  face  of  the 
applicant;  "but  I  may  make  an  exception  in  your 
case.     Whom  do  you  wish  to  see?" 

Agnes  hesitated  a  brief  instant,  and  then  replied, 

"  Harold  Dalton." 

"Harold  Dalton,"  repeated  the  officer,  and  then, 
turning  to  an  adjutant  who  was  sitting  at  a  desk,  he 
inquired, 

"Is  that  Dalton  a  brother  of  the  Dalton  who  is  in 
the  Yankee  army  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  adjutant.  "They  used  to 
live  in  this  city  before  the  war.     This  Dalton  was 


8-i  The  Sanctuary. 

condemned  to  be  shot  a  year  ago,  but  was  reprieved, 
and  has  been  in  hospital  ever  since." 

"Is  David  Dalton  in  the  Federal  army?"  asked 
Agnes,  stepping  forward.     ''  Where?  in  what  army?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  David  Dalton  is  in  the  Yankee  army," 
replied  the  officer.  "Why  are  you  interested  in  his 
whereabouts  ?  Excuse  me,  but  when  a  person  comes 
to  visit  a  criminal  whose  brother  is  a  traitor  to  the 
South,  I  have  a  right  to  ask  questions." 

"I  wish  to  inform  this  sick  brother,  who  for  four 
years  has  not  heard  a  word  from  his  family." 

As  Agnes  concluded  her  last  remark,  which  came 
tremblingly  from  her  lips,  an  expression  of  recogni- 
tion passed  across  the  officer's  dark  face. 

"Captain,"  he  said  to  the  adjutant,  "I  shall  not 
need  you  for  a  while." 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed,  he  lifted  a  crutch 
from  the  table,  and,  leaning  upon  it,  advanced  toward 
Agnes. 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  am  speaking  to  Agnes 
Saumur?" 

She  withdrew  her  veil,  and  answered  with  calm- 
ness, 

"  You  are  right,  Major  Ghilson,  but  I  would  much 
rather  have  avoided  this  recognition.  I  thought  you 
were  in  the  field." 


The  Sanctuary.  85 

"I  was  in  the  field,  Agnes,"  he  said,  with  some 
bitterness,  "  until  a  fortnight  since,  and,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  a  cursed  Yankee  bullet,  you  might  have 
been  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  me  here.  But,  so 
far  was  I  from  understanding  that  such,  a  meeting 
w^ould  give  you  pain,  I  have  tried  to  find  you  out, 
that  I  might  renew  a  pleasant  acquaintance.  But  I 
was  bafiled  in  my  search.  Town  friends  seem  to 
have  been  deserted  by  you — at  least  they  could  give 
me  no  information.  But  I  seem  to  have  made  a 
great  mistake.  You  appear  to  have  more  sympathy 
with  these  Yankees  than  with  your  former  friends." 

"  Since  my  uncle's  death  I  have  been  secluded. 
I  do  not  desire  to  go  into  society.  Besides,  it  is  un- 
doubtedly true  that  my  opinions  in  regard  to  the 
events  of  the  last  four  years  have  undergone  a  de- 
cided change." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  with  you  about 
these  matters,  Agnes.  Do  you  remember  that,  three 
years  ago,  you  encouraged  me  in  the  belief  that  you 
would  one  day  be  my  wife?  To  all  my  letters  to 
you  you  have  vouchsafed  but  one  reply,  and  that 
came  two  summers  ago.  I  was  in  the  mountains  of 
Tennessee.  The  words  were, '  You  have  presumed 
too  much  upon  my  friendship.  I  did  not  love  you. 
I  can  not  be  you  wife.'  " 


86  The  Saxctuarv. 

Ghilson's  face  expressed  bitter  disappointment  and 
burned  with  vehement  passion  as  he  tore  from  a 
packet  drawn  from  his  pocket  a  letter — the  one  to 
which  he  had  just  alluded — and  held  it  before  this 
woman,  who  shrank  from  the  paper  with  an  expres- 
sion of  agon  J. 

*'God  help  me,"  she  moaned,  "but  I  never  antici- 
pated this.  I  loved,  but.  Major  Ghilson,  I  did  not 
love  you.     I — " 

Ghilson  interrupted  her  with  an  oath,  while  the 
letter  held  in  his  nervous  fingers  fell  crumpled  at 
her  feet. 

"  I  believe  you  all  the  time  loved  that  scoundrel 
Dalton!"  he  exclaimed. 

This  outburst  roused  Agnes  from  her  grief  She 
no  longer  thought  of  the  unhappy  past.  ''What 
right,"  she  asked,  "  had  this  man  to  call  David  Dal- 
ton a  scoundrel?" 

"He  may  differ  with  you  as  to  what  constitutes 
patriotism,  but  you  know  him  to  be  a  loyal-hearted 
man.  He  is  incapable  of  a  mean  word  or  act.  He 
is  no  scoundrel.  Major  Ghilson.  But  let  us  not  talk 
of  these  things  longer.  It  can  only  embitter  my  life, 
which.  Heaven  knows,  has  seen  enough  of  sorrow. 
I  beg  of  you,  sir,  to  permit  me  to  visit  Harold  Dal- 
ton.    He  is  just  recovering  from  a  long  illness,  and 


The  Sanctuary.  87 

needs  such  nursing  as  the  attendants  here  arc  unable 
to  give  liim." 

"Agnes  Saumur,  it  is  an  easy  thing  for  you  to  ask 
me  to  forget  the  past.  Do  you  think  I  can  also  for- 
give ?  No ;  the  words  of  that  cruel  letter  are  burn- 
ed into  my  soul.  ISTo ;  this  Harold  Dalton  may  parch 
with  thirst,  but  you  shall  not  give  him  a  drop  of  wa- 
ter. He  may  die  of  want — of  the  hunger  of  body 
and  soul,  but  you  shall  not  minister  to  him.  Hear 
me—" 

But  Agnes,  chilled  with  horror  at  Ghilson's  fearful 
rage,  would  not  listen  longer,  but  hastened  from  the 
room,  across  the  yard,  and  out  of  the  gate.  Her  first 
thought  was  simply  to  fly  from  Ghilson's  presence, 
the  second  was  to  obtain  succor  for  her  friend  Dal- 
ton. Impelled  by  this  latter  thought,  she  sought 
General  Hardee's  head -quarters.  But  the  general 
conld  not  be  seen  that  day ;  he  would  be  at  leisure 
on  the  morrow.  But  she  did  not  know  that  the 
morrow  would  witness  the  evacuation  of  the  city  by 
the  Confederates,  and  the  triumphant  entry  of  Sher- 
man's army. 


X. 

TT^ITHER  General  Hardee  received  information  of 
-■-^  some  new  movement  of  the  besieging  army 
which  would  have  closed  the  only  avenue  of  escape 
left  him,  or  else  his  military  judgment  divined  that 
a  flanking  operation  was  the  next  thing  in  order. 
Certainly,  whatever  influenced  him,  on  the  morning 
of  the  21st  of  December  he  had  decamped  from  the 
city,  and  the  Federal  army  was  soon  in  possession  of 
the  magnificent  prize — "a  Christmas  present  to  the 
nation,"  as  Sherman  called  it.  For  two  days  the  na- 
tional troops  poured  through  the  streets  of  the  city. 
For  two  long,  weary  days  Agnes  Saumur  sat  at  her 
window  watching,  with  tearful  eyes,  the  throng  of 
soldiers,  and  the  flags  that  seemed  to  wave  gentle 
recognition  to  her ;  but  the  one  presence  after  which 
her  heart  yearned  now  with  the  fondest  longings  was 
not  there,  and  there  was  occasion  enough  for  despair 
in  this  to  spoil  for  her  what  otherwise  would  have 
been  the  most  joyous  drama  of  her  life. 


The  Sanctuary.  89 

"What  right  have  I  to  love  him?"  she  asked  her- 
self, and  she  stared  hopelessly  out  upon  the  long 
train  of  wagons  that  followed  the  column  of  troops. 

"I  tinks  Massa  Dalton's  not  in  that  'ar  comp'ny, 
Miss  Agnes,"  ejaculated  the  old  negress  Sarah,  who 
had  been  for  some  time  sitting  behind  her  mistress. 

Sarah  had  remained  in  Agnes's  service  after  the 
Daltons  had  left  Savannah.  During  the  long  four 
years  no  word  had  passed  between  them  concerning 
David  Dalton,  yet  underneath  her  rough,  scarred 
skin  there  beat  a  big,  sympathizing  heart.  In  the 
keenness  of  her  perceptions,  which  had  been  sharp- 
ened by  years  of  secret  observation,  and  with  that 
womanly  instinct  which  divines  more  than  it  sees, 
she  had  penetrated  the  inmost  heart  of  Agnes  Sau- 
mur. 

But  Agnes  did  not  turn  her  face  from  the  window. 

"  Who  spoke  of  Mr.  Dalton,  Sarah  ?" 

"Dar's  nobody  dat  I  knows  on;  but  I  heerd  dat 
he's  in  the  Yankee  army.  God  bress  me,  missus,  see 
de  beautiful  flag,  and  de  music.  Dat's  de  greatest 
sight  dese  eyes  ebber  saw.  An'  dey's  cum  here  ter 
set  all  de  cullud  pussons  free.  De  Lord  be  praised !" 
and  poor  old  Sarah,  quite  forgetful  of  her  mistress's 
presence,  began  swaying  to  and  fro,  chanting  a  song 
of  her  race — 


90  The  Sanctuary. 

"De  LorJ,  lie's  cum  ter  set  us  free, 
An'  take  us  to  de  haben  of  bliss, 
Way  down  in  de  Promised  Land." 

The  twilight  had  faded  into  night  before  Agnes 
Saumur  left  her  post  at  the  window.  The  paleness 
of  baffled  hope  was  on  her  face  as  she  asked  herself 
the  one  great .  question  ever  upon  her  lips  in  these 
troubled  days, 

"  Shall  I  ever  see  David  Dalton  a.srain  V 


XL 

"rXOETON"  sat  looking  out  from  a  bay  window  of 
^-^  bis  room  in  tbe  splendid  mansion  wbicb  bad 
been  taken  for  bead-quarters.  Tbe  cbange  from  tbe 
rougb  experience  of  campaigning,  wbere  tbe  soldier 
rarely  ever  sees  tbe  inside  of  a  bouse  except  to  re- 
gret its  utter  wreck,  for  tbe  luxury  of  civilized 
abodes,  affords  a  contrast  wbicb  can  only  be  appre- 
ciated by  an  old  campaigner.  As  Horton  glanced 
from  tbe  window  to  tbe  comfortable  coal  fire  glow- 
ing in  tbe  grate,  be  wondered  tbat  be  could  ever 
bave  tbougbt  a  camp-fire  of  pine  logs  tbe  beigbtb  of 
luxury.  A  library  of  cboice  books  filled  one  of 
tbose  curiously  carved  armoires  wbicb  are  seldom 
seen  except  in  tbe  palaces  of  tbe  Old  World.  On 
tbe  buffet  near  w^ere  grouped  in  a  singular  collection 
bottles  and  decanters  containing  a  rare  selection  of 
exquisite  wines,  many  of  wbicb  migbt,  by  reason  of 
tbeir  many  voyages  by  sea,  bave  been  considered  old 


92  The  Sanctuary. 

travelers.  Others  had  grown  gray  with  dust  and 
age  in  the  cellars  of  old  magnates,  who  were  prouder 
of  their  wines  than  of  their  children,  and,  in  many 
cases,  doubtless  with  good  reason.  Costly  pictures 
hung  upon  the  wall.  Upon  a  proud  pedestal  near 
the  window  was  set  that  eternal  embodiment  of  grace 
and  beauty,  the  Venus  de  Milo.  Altogether  it  was 
an  apartment  well  suited  to  its  occupant,  who  was,  at 
the  same  time,  a  soldier  and  an  artist. 

It  was  early  in  January,  and  the  spectacle  with- 
out was  cold  and  bleak.  The  wind  rustled  among 
the  green  leaves  of  the  cypress  and  the  pine,  whirl 
incf  the  dust  and  twio^s  into  the  box-wood  bordered 

o  o 

garden-beds,  and  spreading  out  the  ample  folds  of 
the  stars  and  stripes  above  a  regiment  quartered  in 
the  public  square,  where  the  soldiers  were  building 
with  amazing  ingenuity  and  rapidity  their  wooden 
huts  for  shelter.  Groups  of  soldiers  wandered  about 
the  streets,  curiously  regarding  the  fine  houses,  and 
the  parks  and  monuments.  Children,  guarded  by 
their  negro  nurses,  played  among  the  trees  as  regard- 
less of  the  biting  air  as  of  the  "  blood  thirsty"  Yan- 
kees. 

Upon  the  table  lay  two  letters.  One  was  address- 
ed to  Horton  by  Blauvelt,  an  artist  friend  in  Boston  ; 
the  other  was  his  own  reply.     These  are  the  letters : 


The  Sanctuary.  93 

"Boston,  December  29,  18G4. 

"Dear  Captain,— Every  body  is  talking  about 
tlie  grand  March  to  the  Sea.  Sherman  is  a  hero  I 
*  *  *  By  thg  way,  Horton,  we  heard  some  queer 
stories  about  you  a  few  weeks  ago.  It  was  all  about 
some  pretended  love  affair  of  yours  with  a  rebel 
beauty,  whom  you  rescued  among  those  Georgia 
mountains  when  she  didn't  need  help,  and  when 
you  should  have  been  at  the  front,  etc.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  your  old  friend  Gray  retailing  the 
story  to  quite  a  crowd  at  Mrs.  Somers's  reception. 
What'sr  the  matter  with  this  Gray  ?  Did  you  ever 
lend  him  money  ?  Have  you  crossed  him  in  love  ? 
^*  ^  *  Kate  Noble  is  as  grand  as  ever,  and  re- 
mains the  queen.  Several  of  our  best  young  men 
are  paying  attentions  to  her,  but  they  never  get  be- 
yond a  certain  point.  You  must  come  home,  and 
see  what  brass  buttons  can  do.  By-the-by,  when  I 
was  looking  up  your  pictures,  sketches,  etc.,  which 
you  left  in  such  abominable  confusion,  scattered 
about  the  studio,  I  found  several  rough  designs,  all 
of  which,  in  one  shape  or  another,  represented  our 
friend  Kate.  I  never  suspected  that  you  were  in 
love  with  her,  but,  since  Gray  has  opened  fire,  I  have 
thought  the  matter  over.  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
consider  me  officious  in  this  matter.     Can  I  do  anv 


94  The  Sanctuary. 

thing  for  you,  old  fellow?  Shall  I  make  love  to 
Miss  Kate  in  your  behalf?  I  should  like  that.  Or 
shall  I  paint  a  portrait  of  Gray  in  the  character  of 
Lawyer  Muddle,  and  send  it  to  ^he  Exhibition? 
*  *  *  George  Inness  is  painting  more  glorious- 
ly than  ever.  Gay  continues  to  give  us  those  pure, 
fresh  bits  of  sea-side  scenery,  and  Hunt  knocks  off 
a  head  now  and  then,  which,  could  he  see  it,  would 
make  our  old  Master  Couture  tumble  from  his  lad- 
der with  delight.  But  what  do  3'ou  care  about  art, 
you  who  are  making  history — who  are  placing  the 
cap-stone  ujDon  the  Temple  of  Liberty,  where  Sll  peo- 
ple are  to  come  and  worship  ?  The  wound  I  received 
at  Gettysburg  is  slowly  healing,  but  I  can  never  take 
the  field  again.  Thank  Heaven,  it  does  not  prevent 
me  from  painting. 

"Be  sure  and  answer  this  letter.  I  have  not  had 
a  word  from  you  these  twelve  months. 

''  Blauvelt." 

*'SAVA^-^-AH,  January  8,  1864. 

''  Dear  Friend,— I  was  glad  to  get  your  letter, 
with  its  details  of  the  folks  at  home.  In  regard  to 
that  matter  about  Gray  and  the  stories  to  which  you 
alluded,  I  have  only  one  favor  to  ask.  Do  not  use 
my  name  to  Kate  in  any  way.     If  there  is  one  lesson 


The  Sanctuary.  95 

which  a  true  soldier  learns  in  the  army  more  thor- 
oughly than  any  other,  it  is  to  allow  acts  to  speak 
for  themselves,  and  to  pay  no  regard  to  calumny. 
If  my  friends  have  not  faith  enough  in  me  to  pre- 
serve my  honor  intact,  then  let  the  future  take  care 
of  itself  No,  my  dear  fellow,  do  nothing  and  say 
nothing  about  me,  especially  in  the  presence  of  Kate 
Noble.  We  shall  have  but  few  more  campaigns  to 
make.  The  most  terrible  battles  have  been  fought. 
Peace  will  come  soon,  and  I  shall  return  home.  Un- 
til then,  good-by,  old  boy. 

''Alfred  Horton." 

The  first  of  these  letters  Horton  had  perused  for 
the  third  time ;  the  reply  still  lay  upon  the  table  un- 
sealed. Evidently  there  was  much  in  the  captain's 
mind  which  he  had  not  revealed  to  his  friend.  He 
had  been  musing  over  his  meerschaum.  Blauvelt 
was  entirely  forgotten.  Only  two  figures  were  prom- 
inent in  his  thoughts.  The  first  was  Kate  Noble's— 
the  central  figure  in  all  his  pictures  of  home ;  the 
second  was  Harry  Gray's. 

"What  could  Gray's  conduct  mean?"  he  asked 
himself  "  If  ever  a  man  was  bound  by  every  sense 
of  manly  honor  and  of  past  service  to  do  justice  to 
another,  surely  Gray  is  thus  bound  to  me.     Does  he 


96  The  Sanctuary. 

love  Kate  ?  Even  then,  wliat  necessity  for  slandering 
me?  Gray  does  not  write  me  as  he  used.  Bother 
the  whole  thing,  this  comes  of  being  a  soldier.  If  I 
could  have  twenty  minutes  in  Boston,  I  would  soon 
fix  this  business.  But  one  might  as  well  expect  to 
find  patriotism  in  these  secesh  women  as  to  get  a 
furlough  from  the  Old  Tj'coon  !" 

Then,  having  forgotten  his  friend,  and  thinking 
only  of  Kate,  he  seized  a  pen  and  directed  the  letter 
intended  for  Blauvelt  to  Miss  Kate  Koble,  Mount 
Yernon  Street,  Boston.  Calling  an  orderly,  he  gave 
him  the  letter,  with  instructions  to  dispatch  it  by  the 
first  mail. 

The  entrance  and  exit  of  the  orderly  did  not  inter- 
rupt the  train  of  thought  which  had  taken  so  strong 
a  hold  upon  Horton's  mind.  Suddenly  the  vision 
which  had  startled  him  on  the  evening  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Fort  McAllister  flashed  upon  him,  but  now  he 
recognized  the  face  of  Gray  as  belonging  to  the  de- 
mon of  that  vision.  He  identified  the  exterior  feat- 
ures, but  these  had  on  that  occasion  been  so  disguised 
with^  a  cruel,  heartless  sneer,  that  Horton  did  not 
wonder  he  had  failed  to  discern  Gray  in  that  wicked 
image.  But  now  the  likeness  was  perfect.  The  vi- 
sion of  that  night  and  the  letter  from  Blauvelt  had 
a  miraculous  correspondence;   to  Horton,  it  almost 


The  Sanctuary.  97 

seemed  that  tlie  former  was  a  spiritual  reflection  of 
a  scene  that  had  actually  occurred,  or  else,  as  if  by 
some  mysterious  law  of  mental  operation,  an  element 
in  Gray's  character  entirely  foreign  to  their  friend- 
ship hitherto  had  been  suddenly  and  spontaneously 
revealed  in  this  wonderful  manner.  A  subsequent 
event  in  his  military  career  caused  him  to  wonder 
less  at  this  singular  physiological  phenomenon. 

E 


XII. 

TTORTON'S  speculations  were  brought  to  an  ab- 
-■-^  rupt  termination  by  a  rap  at  his  door. 

"  Why,  Dalton  !"'  he  exclaimed,  as  his  old  comrade 
entered  the  room,  "how  are  you?  and  where  did 
you  come  from?" 

The  answer  came  in  a  graver  mood,  as  from  one 
almost  weary  with  life.  Dalton  sank  down  into  a 
chair.  He  thanked  his  friend,  he  was  well.  He  had 
been  in  the  city  about  three  hours.  He  had  traveled 
day  and  night  from  Nashville,  which  he  had  left  after 
Hood's  defeat. 

"  I  heard,"  he  said,  "  that  you  were  likely  to  come 
out  at  Savannah." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  this  was  your  home.  By  the 
way,  I  have  heard  about  your  brother  Harold." 

"I  know  the  whole  story,"  said  Dalton,  "and  for 
that  reason  I  did  not  come  to  head-quarters  at  once." 
His  bright  eyes  flashed  with  anger.     "Harold  was 


The   Sanctuary.  99 

in  tbis  city  only  the  day  before  your  troops  entered. 
How  long  lie  bad  been  berc  I  do  not  know,  but  tbe 
story  told  me  by  tbat  rebel  prisoner  in  tbe  moun- 
tains was  in  tbe  main  correct.  After  I  escaped  from 
Savannab,  Harold  was  conscripted.  His  safest  means 
of  escape  was  to  go  with  tbe  army.  He  tried  to  get 
awa}^,  was  captured,  court-martialed,  and  sentenced 
to  be  sbot,  but  was  reprieved  on  condition  tbat  be 
would  volunteer  to  enter  tbe  ranks  again.  Wbetber 
be  submitted  I  do  not  know,  but  in  tbe  mean  wbile 
be  was  taken  down  with  tbe  fever,  and  was  removed 
to  tbe  bospital  bere,  wbere  be  remained  until  tbe  day 
before  tbe  evacuation,  wben  be  was  dragged  away 
witb  tbe  fugitive  army.  I  am  told  by  tbe  citizens 
bere  tbat  tbey  can  get  bim  exchanged,  and  I  have 
come  to  see  the  general  about  it." 

''  You  have  only  to  tell  him  your  story,"  said  Hor- 
ton,  who  heartily  sympathized  with  his  friend's  dis- 
tress, "and  he  will  go  any  length  to  assist  you." 

As  Horton  bad  anticipated,  tbe  general  listened 
attentively  to  the  whole  stor}^,  and  at  once  gave  the 
major  the  authority  to  effect  an  exchange  of  rebel 
prisoners  for  his  brother.  ^ 

Dalton  forgot  his  own  fatigue  as,  witb  tbe  papers 
for  bis  brother's  release,  he  sallied  forth  out  of  the 
bouse  arm-in-arm  with*liis  friend. 


100  The   Sanctuaky. 

"  This  is  not  the  Savannah  which  you  left  four 
years  ago,  I  imagine/'  remarked  Horton,  as  they 
passed  the  old  United  States  barracks,  whose  win- 
dows and  doorways  were  crowded  with  soldiers  in 
blue,  whife  a  band  of  music  under  the  windows  of 
the  post-commandant  w^ere  playing  national  airs. 

''By  the  wiiy,"  he  added,  "how  do  your  old  ac- 
quaintances receive  you?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Horton,  since  I  came  back 
I  have  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to 
think  of  any  thing  else  but  my  brother.  As  for  the 
people  here,  although  my  personal  appearance  has 
not  changed  much,  yet  few  would  recognize  me  in 
my  uniform." 

Dalton's  physique  had  altered  far  more  tban  he 
supposed.  His  eye  had  become  more  stern  and  fix- 
ed, not  merely  by  sighting  cannon  amid  the  smoke 
and  thunder  of  many  battle-fields,  but  by  an  inward 
purpose  w^hich  had  grown  to  be  inflexible,  and  which 
seemed  now  almost  triumphant.  His  mouth  had  lit- 
tle of  its  old  expression  of  gentleness,  and  his  whole 
face  was  more  rigid  and  immovable.  There  was  no 
restlessness  of  lool^  no  fluctuating  waves  of  passion 
ruffled  the  face,  which  had  been  overmastered  by  a 
calm  w^hich  only  those  could  have  understood  who 
had  w'itnessed  the  terrible  sf^'iiofoles  through  which 


The  Sanctuaey.  loi 

it  had  been  attained.  As  he  walked,  his  look  was 
straight  ahead  ;  there  was  no  hesitation  in  his  steps  ; 
he  knew  only  dutj^,  and  therefore  dealt  only  with  in- 
stant decision. 

*'But  why  should  I  desire  to  revive  old  acquaint- 
ances here?"  continued  Dalton.  "There  is  no  bond 
of  sympathy  between  them  and  myself  They  hate 
the  old  Union,  which  I  revere,  and  for  which  I  would 
die.  They  look,  upon  me  as  denationalized.  In  their 
sense  of  the  word,  doubtless  I  am.  But  I  love  the 
South  not  less  than  they,  though  I  do  not  agree  with 
them  as  to  its  proper  glory  and  its  legitimate  hope. 
No,  Horton,  they  will  only  come  to  me  to  ask  for 
help.  The  fight  is  nearly  over,  and  I  can  see  the  de- 
spair of  defeat  already  written  in  their  faces.  I  can 
not  triumpli  over  them.  I  do  not  come  to  witness 
their  humiliation,  and  I  shall  avoid — " 

The  sudden  vision  of  Agnes  Sanmur  it  was  which 
had  interrupted  Dalton's  concluding  remark.  With 
a  heart  beating  witli  wild  joy,  she  had  recognized 
him  first,  and  was  hastening  to  meet  him.  The 
hopes,  the  prayers,  the  loving  longings  of  wistful 
years  were  now  to  be  realized  at  last.  One  only 
comfort  there  had  been  for  her  all  along—her  faith  in 
him.  His  self-sacrificing  devotion  to  duty  had  been 
also  to  her  a  grand  example — a  guiding  star  in  the 


102  The  Saxctuary. 

darkness.  She  bad  waited  for  Lis  coming,  bow  fond- 
ly and  bow  anxiously!  And  bere  be  was.  Sbe 
could  now  prove  to  bim,  witb  many  a  gentle  word 
and  caress,  bow  sbe  bad  loved  bim  all  tbe  wbile,  and 
wbat  a  ricb  barvest  sbe  bad  gatbered  during  tbese 
long  years — a  barvest  of  bis  own  sowing — and  ber 
beart  tbrilled  witb  exulting  pride  as  sbe  saw  bim. 
His  blue  uniform  seemed  to  fitly  clotbe  tbe  vision 
for  wbicb  sbe  bad  so  patiently  waited  ;  it  was  to  ber, 
also,  tbe  emblem  of  law  and  liberty. 

"Well,"  said  Horton,  waiting  for  bis  friend  to  fin- 
isb  bis  sentence. 

"Let  us  turn  tbis  way,"  replied  Dalton.  "But  it 
is  too  late.  Sbe  bas  seen  us.  I  would  ratber  not 
bave  met  ber,  but  it  migbt  as  well  come  now  as  at 
any  otber  time." 

Agnes's  quick  eye  saw  tbat  Dalton  bad  recognized 
ber,  and  tbat  be  would  bave  turned  tbe  otber  way. 
His  last  words,  too,  bad  reacbed  ber  ear.  It  was 
bard  on  tbe  instant  to  take  into  ber  consciousness 
tbe  tbougbt  tbat  be  really  wisbed  to  sbun  ber.  Sbe 
did  not  remember  tbe  last  time  tbey  were  face  to 
face,  and  bow  sbe  bad  tben  met  bis  impassioned 
pleadings  for  love  and  sympatby,  and  bow  mucb 
bad  passed  since  tben.  Sbe  was  conscious  only  of 
tbe  new  joy  tbrilling  ber  every  sense — of  present 


The  Sanctuary.  103 

love  and  uprising  hope.  If  slie  had  hesitated  longer 
— if  she  had  tried  to  read  the  face  upon  which  she 
looked  as  in  a  dream,  she  would  have  found  there  no 
answer  either  for  love  or  hope,  but  a  repellant  wave 
which  would  have  beaten  her  back  upon  the  forlorn 
coast  of  her  immediate  past.  But  she  did  not  thus 
read.  How  could  she,  when  she  was  self-inspired — 
when  she  was  thus  irresistibly  borne  away  by  the 
current  that  carried  her  out  from  the  desolate  w^aste 
which  her  life  had  been  ranging  toward  him. 

And  so  Agnes  pressed  forward,  her  eyes  seeking 
his  with  that  faith  and  fullness  of  expectant  love 
w^hich  one  sees  in  the  upturned  faces  of  Perugino's 
adoring  angels. 

But — and  she,  poor  child,  must  see  it  now — there 
w^as  scarcely  recognition  in  the  stern  gaze  which  met 
her  own,  and  what  there  w^as  was  like  the  light  which 
momentarily  flashes  across  the  rain-clouds,  and  leaves 
them  again  as  dark  and  forbidding  as  before.  Before 
she  had  even  spoken  he  had  passed  on. 

"  Good  heavens !  Dalton,  w^hat  is  the  meaning  of 
this  singular  performance?"  asked  his  friend,  who 
had  witnessed  this  earnest  appeal  and  its  terrible 
repulse. 

"Do  not  ask  me  to  explain,  Horton.  You  will 
not  misunderstand  me,  I  am  sure,  but  there  are  suffi- 


10-i  The  Saxctuary. 

cient  reasons  why  this  encounter  should  pass  as  if  it 
had  never  happened." 

Dalton's  voice  trembled  with  ill-concealed  emotion. 
Could  it  be  that  the  calm  which  he  had  won  for  him- 
self, and  which  almost  seemed  immovable  and  eter- 
nal, was  but  a  frail  possession  after  all  ?  Could  it  be 
that  a  trouble  conquered,  could  still  hatmt  the  con- 
queror, and  that  a  struggle  once  fought  out  to  its 
bitter  close  could  repeat  itself  upon  so  slight  an  occa- 
sion? And  what  virtue,  then,  is  there  in  decision, 
if,  after  all,  the  issues  which  Fate  ordains  refuse  to 
be  decided  by  any  human  arbitration?  What  if 
Fate  reserves  decisions  to  herself  alone  ? 

But  the  two  officers  had  reached  their  destination, 
and,  answering  the  salute  of  a  sentinel  at  the  door, 
passed  into  the  house  of  a  citizen  who  had  promised 
to  procure  the  exchange  of  Harold  Dalton. 


XIIT. 

AGNES  SAUMUR  rushed  wildly,  blindly  along 
the  streets,  unmindful  of  the  wondering  gaze  of 
passers-by,  deaf  to  the  strains  of  martial  music  which 
filled  the  air,  home,  home,  home,  to  hide  her  face 
from  human  sight,  to  weep  tears  of  anguish,  to  cry 
out  aloud  in  her  agony  of  grief.  She  knew  David 
Dalton.  The  stern,  unyielding  face,  still  looking 
upon  her,  spoke  more  than  words.  "  He  does  not 
love  me  longer."  They  had  changed  places.  She 
saw  this  pow.  After  her  repulse,  she  could  remem- 
ber how,  four  years  ago,  she  had  beaten  him  back 
from  her.  And  time  had  done  its  work  with  them 
both.  Her  it  had  changed,  while  it  softened  ;  him  it 
had  changed  also,  but  in  a  different  way.  The  shad- 
ow which  she  had  just  seen  in  all  its  darkness  had 
grown  out  of  the  shadow  which  she  had  raised  her- 
self at  their  last  meeting. 

She  pressed  her  almost  bursting  temples  with  her 
E2 


106  TuE  Sanctuary. 

hands,  as  if  to  drive  tlie  vision  from  her  sight.  But 
it  would  not  leave  her.  The  very  intensity  and  un- 
changing loyalty  of  his  early  love  gave  her  nothing 
to  hope  as  against  his  indiiference  now.  If  it  were 
the  despite  of  petty  revenge,  there  might  be  hope. 
But  Dalton's  nature  had  no  sucli  meanness.  He 
could  not  deceive  her.  His  high  sense  of  honor 
would  not  let  him  assume  a  sentiment  which  did  not 
exist  in  his  heart.     He  did  not  love  her. 

"  Oh,  if  he  could  know  what  I  have  sufiered !" 
Through  her  trials  and  persecutions  he  had  been  the 
pillar  of  fire  by  night  and  the  cloud  b}^  day.  And 
now,  in  sight  of  the  promised  land,  she  was  left  to 
die.  And  she  cried  for  death.  Great  sobs  came 
welling  up  thick  and  fast,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  life 
would  free  itself  in  tears.  At  last  her  tired  heart 
found  rest  in  sleep ;  but  still  she  sobbed  in  sleep,  and 
hot  tears  trickled  through  the  closed  lids,  q^,  when  a 
stone  is  cast  into  a  lake,  disturbing  its  calm  reflec- 
tions of  bank,  and  tree,  and  sky,  the  bubbles  rise  and 
break  upon  the  surface  in  mute  protest  long  after 
the  surfnce  has  sunk  to  rest." 


H 


XIV. 

AVE  you  been  deceiving  me?"  inquired  Dal- 
ton  of  Mr.  Harding,  the  citizen  who  had  en- 
gaged to  secure  Harold's  release,  and  who  had  ap- 
peared at  head-quarters  in  answer  to  the  major's 
summons.  "  This  paper  is  returned  to  me  with  an 
indorsement  declaring  that  my  brother  is  a  deserter 
from  the  Confederate  army,  and  will  in  no  event  be 
given  up  to  the  Federal  authorities." 

Several  days  had  elapsed,  and  the  messenger  had 
returned  with  this  answer. 

"  I  assure  you.  Major  Dalton,  I  had  every  reason 
to  believe  that  I  could  effect  this  exchange.  I  have 
influence  with  the  general  commanding  the  Confed- 
erate army.  There  must  be  some  extraordinary, 
some  underhand  work  here  which  has  defeated  our 
efforts.  But,  sir,  it  has  been  no  fault  of  mine,"  Mr. 
Harding  continued,  as  Dalton  paced  the  room  to  and 
fro,   disappointed,   angry,   and  heart -sick.      Almost 


108  The  Sanctuary. 

within  touch  of  his  hand,  and  his  brother  was  lost 
again.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  the  poor  sick  man 
was  dragging  his  feeble  limbs  along  rough  roads,  or 
sighing  away  his  last  breath  in  some  WTetched  prison 
hospital.     The  thought  was  maddening. 

"Mr.  Harding,"  he  said,  suddenly  turning  upon 
that  individual,  "  I  have  said  nothing  to  you  of  the 
injuries  you  inflicted  upon  me  and  mine  when  the 
war  broke  out.  I  have  the  power  to-day,  and  j^ou 
are  helpless.  I  do  not  retaliate,  but  I  do  not  forget. 
I  never  struck  at  a  fallen  foe.  I  do  not  wish  to  harm 
3^ou  ;  but,  Mr.  Harding,  if  I  find  that  you  have  plaj^ed 
me  false  in  this  matter  of  m}^  poor  brother,  3'ou  shall 
occupy  the  filthy  hole  where  he  has  dragged  out  a 
long,  miserable  existence;  you  shall  eat  the  food 
which  was  given  him  to  eat;  and  if  in  any  degree 
you  sufier  the  pangs  he  suffered,  it  will  be  more 
punishment  than  you  can  bear." 

As  Harding  left  Major  Dalton,  his  was  probably 
the  uneasiest  mind  in  the  city  of  Savannah. 

Dalton  gave  way  for  an  instant  to  the  reaction 
which  succeeded  his  mortifying  pleasure;  but,  as  his 
large  brown  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rebel  indorse- 
ment, as  he  sat  by  his  table  with  his  hands  clenched 
and  his  brow  knit  with  unconquerable  resolve,  it  was 
plain  that  he  had  no  surrender  to  make,  and  that  he 


The  Sanctuary.  109 

would  at  any  cost  pursue  to  the  end  the  work  which 
he  had  undertaken. 

-  An  unusual  turmoil  at  the  door  aroused  him.  He 
could  hear  the  sound  of  voices  on  the  sidewalk  grad- 
ually approaching  nearer  and  into  the  hall. 

"  There  is  no  use  talking,  old  woman,  you  can't  go 
in  there.  The  major's  orders  are  not  to  admit  any 
one,"  cried  the  orderly. 

"Dat's  all  berry  well  for  common  folks,  but  I  tell 
ye  I  nussed  Massa  Dal  ton  in  dese  bans,  an'  I'd  like 
ter  see  ef  yer  perwents  me  from  finin'  out  Massa  Dal- 
ton  arter  foar  years  is  pass  an'  gone  away." 

"  I'll  take  your  name,  but  you  can't  go  in  until 
the  major  says  so,"  replied  the  orderly  by  way  of 
compromise. 

Dalton  was  at  the  door.  ''  It's  all  right ;  let  her 
come  in,"  he  said. 

In  a  moment  old  Sarah  was  in  the  room.  At  first 
she  could  not  give  vent  in  words  to  her  love  and 
reverence  for  her  master's  son — her  own  favorite  of 
all  the  family,  but,  dropping  on  her  knees,  she  threw 
her  arms  about  him,  and  then  grasped  both  his  hands 
in  hers,  and  held  them  to  her  face.  Then,  lifting  her 
arms,  she  prayed  with  tearful  fervor — 

"  Oh,  de  Almighty  God,  de  Lord  Jesus  be  praised, 
my  Massa  David  is  right  dar  alibe  afore  my  ole  eyes. 


110  The  Sanctuary. 

De  prajers  of  poor  Sarali  is  heard  in  de  mansions  ob 
bliss,  an'  be  is  come  back  ter  der  ole  borne." 

Dalton's  eyes  moistened.  Every  niemory  of  bis 
youtb  and  early  manbood  was  associated  with  this 
good  old  loving  creature,  and,  next  to  Harold,  she 
was  nearer  to  him  than  any  other  person  in  the  city 
of  his  childhood. 

''  Well,  Sarah,  I  am  glad  to  see  your  kind  old  face 
again.  You  must  tell  me  all  about  3-ourself  Of 
course  3'ou  have  been  well  cared  for  since  I  left. 
Mr.  Bright  promised  me  you  should  be." 

*'Lor  bress  me,  MassaDalton — butyouse  an  ossifer 
now — Major  Dalton.  Major — dat  soun's  well.  How 
han'some  you  looks  in  dat  ar  blue  coat  wid  de  bright 
buttons.  La !  you  is  han'some,  de  Lord  knows  dat," 
and  Sarah  stood  at  seeing  distance  and  surveyed 
the  major  with  admiration.  "Who'd  a  tort,  mas — 
major,  dat  youse  come  back  here,  arter  all,  a  grea-at 
big  ossifer,  wid  a  sojer  at  de  door  ter  keep  watch? 
De  Lord  be  praised  youse  come  back !"  and,  her  won- 
der appeased,  Sarah  again  broke  out  into  demonstra- 
tions of  ecstatic  pleasure. 

After  a  while  Dalton  was  able  to  reduce  her  to 
something  like  order. 

'•  I'se  not  bin  wid  Massa  Bright,  but  dey's  bin 
Union  all  de  time," "she  said.     "So  soon  as  ebber 


The  Sanctuary.  m 

you  get  away,  clat  brcsscd  angel,  Miss  Agnes,  come 
an'  tuk  me  ter  lier  bouse,  an'  dar  I'se  bin  cbber  since. 
Ef  she'd  a  bin  my  own  chile,  I  couldn't  a  bin  car'd 
fur  more." 

"That  was  very  kind  of  Miss  Saumur,"  said  Dal- 
ton,  rather  coldly. 

"But  dat  isn't  de  commencement  of  what  she 
done.  It's  nuthin'  but  good  works  all  de  way  'long, 
artcr  she'd  separated  from  de  sesesh.  An'  she  -did 
hav  orful  quar'ls  wid  dese  peoples,  when  she'd  dcfen' 
de  ole  Union,  and  said  sesesh  was  a  sin.  One  day 
her  uncle  died  wid  a  fever  he  tuck  at  de  war.  Den 
she  left  all  dese  peoples,  an'  sit  alone.  Ebbery  day 
when  de  Yankee  pris'ners  pass  troo  heyar — dey  come 
from  Charleston,  an'  dey  put  dem  all  down  in  de  side- 
walk in  Liberty  Street  'fore  dey  put  dem  in  de  cars 
to  send  way  off  ter  Milten  and  An'sonville.  Oh ! 
Massa  Dalton,  de  orful  sights  us  see  ebbery  dey,  eb- 
bery day — dere  dese  wounded  men,  an'  sick,  trown 
out  ob  de  cars  like  hogs,  an'  den  Miss  Agnes  go  roun' 
'mong  dem  wid  a  basket  full  ob  nice  tings  ter  eat. 
She  look  like  an  angel  come  right  down  from  heb- 
ben,  wid  her  big  black  ej^es  so  full  ob  light,  an'  her 
face  white  as  de  cotton  -  fiel's.  You  know,  Massa 
David,  she  like  an  angel !"  and  the  old  negress  peer- 
ed into  the  face  of  Dalton  as  if  she  would  fain  inter- 
pret his  thoughts. 


112  The  Sanctuary. 

"Well,  go  on,  Sarah,"  was  bis  only  answer,  while 
with  his  hand  he  shaded  his  face  from  the  blaze  of 
the  burning  lightwood  which  flared  and  crackled  in 
the  large  fireplace. 

"Ah!  I 'member  well,  one  da}^,"  continued  old 
Sarah,  as  if  talking  to  herself,  "  dere  w^as  a  man  wid 
torn  clo's;  his  legs  wos  jes'  like  cornstalks,  dey  so 
small  an'  hard ;  de  har  all  drop  off  ob  his  head  ;  his 
e3^es  sunk  way  in  his  eyebrows,  wid  great  black 
spots  un'erneath.  Miss  Agnes  gib  him  piece  ob 
bread,  an'  when  he'  put  it  in  his  mouf  de  blood  run 
from  his  teef  an'  make  de  bread  all  red,  an'  den  Miss 
Agnes  cry  like  a  chile,  an'  den  de  pris'ner  cry  dref- 
ful,  an'  I  cry  a  heap.  One  day  de  guard  tell  Miss 
Agnes  ter  go  way  an'  let  de  dam  Yankees  die.  Lor' 
bress  me,  Massa  David,  you'd  orter  seen  how  de 
sparks  flew  right  out  ob  Miss  Agnes's  eyes.  De 
guard  not  dare  say  'nudder  word.  Bime-by  she 
heerd  tell  dat  Massa  Harol  was  in  de  hosp'tal  pris'n 
down  by  de  railroad,  an'  fur  weeks  an'  mon's  she 
went  dar,  a-nussin'  him  like's  ef  she'd  bin  his  sister. 
She  couldn't  do  'nuff  fur  yer  sick  brudder,  an'  many's 
de  time  I  heerd  him  bress  her,  while  wid  his  eyes  as 
blue  as  de  firm'ment  he'd  foller  her  about  dat  hole. 
She  tinks  a  heep  ob  you,  Massa  David,"  cried  the  old 
woman,  suddenly  advancing,  and  with  the  familiarity 


The  Sanctuary.  113 

of  the  old  family  nurse,  she  laid  her  long  bony  band 
on  the  major's  arm. 

Dalton  made  no  answer,  but  closed  his  eyes,  as  if 
to  shut  out  the  picture  she  had  drawn. 

"  Yes,  Massa  David,  yer'll  let  yer  ole  mammy  speak 
ter  yer.  Las'  Monday  week  agone— no,  'twas  Tues- 
da}' — Miss  Agnes  come  home  an'  ran  right  ter  her 
room,  an'  den  I  heerd  such  cryin'  and  groanin',  and 
she  talk  out  loud  ter  herself,  an'  I  was  afeerd  ter  go 
in  dere  until,  bime-by,  dere  wos  no  noise,  an'  I  fin' 
her  on  de  floor,  her  face  all  sorrowful  wid  de  tears, 
but  she  sleep  like  a  baby.  She  nebber  hab  lef '  dat 
room  since  dat  day." 

Before  she  had  finished  her  story  Dalton's  arms 
had  fallen  upon  the  table,  and  his  head  rested  upon 
them,  and  thus  he  remained,  when  Sarah  left  him, 
feeling  that  she  should  say  no  more,  and  silently 
stole  from  the  room. 

Hours  passed,  and  still  Major  Dalton  had  not 
moved  from  his  position.  Eigidly  did  he  examine 
himself,  and  weigh  every  thought  and  motive.  A 
thousand  memories  of  old  days  of  love  in  the  past 
came  thronging  into  court  in  passionate  appeal.  To 
give  his  life  for  her  happiness  w^ould  be  a  poor  com- 
pensation for  her  grand  heroism,  her  tender  devotion 
to  his  comrades  and  to  his  brother.     Could  he  mis- 


11-i  TnE  Sanctuary. 

take  the  world  of  confident,  expectant  love  wbich 
filled  ber  ej'es  on  the  day  of  their  meeting?  What 
riofht  had  he  to  refuse  this  noble  offering^?  He 
should  be  a  king  among  men  to  wear  so  rich  a 
crown.  What  grander  aim?  What  higher  duty? 
What  nobler  aspiration  than  to  devote  his  best  life 
to  this  noble  girl?  And  then,  in  spite  of  all,  came 
back  upon  him  the  terrible  thought,  crushing  with 
remorseless  hand  these  eloquent  but  subtle  fallacies: 
"  Oh  no,  I  will  not  deceive  m3'self — I  will  not  lie 
to  her.  Four  years  ago  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife ; 
that  was  to  me  the  crucial  hour,  deciding  all.  She 
refused  me,  and  from  that  moment  she  passed  out 
of  my  love  as  if  she  had  never  been.*  No,  I  will  not 
deceive  myself — I  will  not  lie  to  her.  I  do  not  love 
Agnes  Saumur." 


I 


XV. 

T  was  with  a-  sad,  hopeless  heart  that  Agnes  Sau- 
mur,  yielding  to  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Mrs. 
Bright,  took  her  place  in  that  lady's  carriage. 

"You  are  not  well,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Bright,  as 
she  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her  friend.  "  What  ails 
you?  Here  you  have  been  shut  up  in  your  room 
for  weeks.  The  fresh  air  will  cheer  you.  There  is 
nothing  like  sunshine  for  invalids.  "We  will  have  a 
pleasant  drive  to  Thunderbolt,  and  I  know  you  will 
enjoy  it." 

The  sun  shone  pleasantly  enough  as  they  drove 
down  Liberty  Street,  and  out  upon  the  shell  road— 
once  a  broad,  smooth  avenue,  now  cut  up  by  the 
passage  of  heavy  army  wagons.  As  they  passed 
through  the  massive  fortification  and  over  the  wood- 
en bridge  which  spanned  the  wido  ditch,  and  out 
upon  the  open  plain,  they  could  see  the  gray  and 
purple  clouds  in  the  south  working  swiftly  and  rest- 


116  The  Sanctuary. 

lesslj  northward.  Then  the  wind  shifted  to  the 
east,  and  came  cold  and  bleak,  penetrating  and  chill- 
ing the  blood.  Very  soon  the  sun  gave  up  the  con- 
test for  the  mastery,  and  hid  itself  behind  the  mists 
and  scudding  clouds. 

''Drive  to  Bonaventura,  and  leave  me  there.  You 
can  take  me  up  on  3'our  way  back,"  said  Agnes. 
The  change  in  the  weather  was  quite  in  consonance 
with  Agnes's  mood,  and  she  resolved  to  visit  the 
tomb  of  her  parents,  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  for 
during  her  illness  she  had  revolved  the  possibilities 
of  her  future  life.  In  Savannah  she  could  not  and 
would  not  remain.  Every  association  with  the  place 
was  repulsive  to  her.  She  had  cousins  in  New  York 
who  had  generously  urged  her  to  make  her  future 
home  with  them.  She  was  independent  of  others  so 
far  as  pecuniary  considerations  were  concerned,  and 
she  had  resolved  to  accept  her  cousins'  invitation. 
Perhaps,  under  other  circumstances  and  associations, 
some  new  sphere  of  usefulness  would  open,  where 
she  could  wear  out  her  heart's  pain. 


XYL 

PERHAPS  in^ll  the  world  there  is  not  a  more 
remarkable  burial-place  for  the  dead  than  Bona- 
ventura.  When,  centuries  ago,  the  Spanish  adven- 
turers, navigating  the  creeks  and  rivers  which  divide 
the  sea-coast  into  main  land  and  barren  island,  came 
suddenly  upon  this  luxurious  growth  of  live-oak- 
trees  clustered  upon  the  river-bank,  and  then,  in  their 
joyous  enthusiasm,  cried  out  "  bonaventura,"*  they 
little  imagined  that  it  was  one  day  to  serve  as  a  cem- 
etery of  a  great  city  near,  or  that  underneath  the 
branches  of  the  wide -spreading  trees  where  they 
pitched  their  silken  tents  there  would  rise  monu- 
ments  covering  the  ashes  of  their  children's  children. 
In  every  direction  in  this  great  cemetery  long 
avenues  traverse  the  forest,  whose  gnarled,  sturdy 
branches  have  for  centuries  woven  a  cathedral  arch 
above,  the  avenues  themselves  extending  away  from 
the  beholder  until  they  are  lost  in  the  distance. 
*  Good  luck. 


118  The  Sanctuary. 

At  no  season  of  the  year  does  the  sunlight  enter 
here.  A  thick,  gray  mist,  rising  from  malarious 
swamp  and  fen,  gathers  among  the  foliage,  matting 
its  graceful  forms,  and  enwrapping  the  giant  limbs 
as  with  a  death-shroud. 

As  Agnes  entered  this  gloomy  abode  of  the  dead, 
a  nameless  horror  crept  over  her,  which,  while  it  was 
a  fit  reflex  of  her  own  mood,  seemed  also  a  presenti- 
ment of  coming  evil.  The  drooping,  pendulous  moss 
seemed  to  embrace  her  in  its  snaky  coils ;  it  clung  to 
her  hair,  and  swept  over  her  pallid  face.  The  murky 
shadows  of  the  forest  to  her  vivid  imagination  as- 
sumed weird  and  fantastic  forms  of  human  shape, 
swa3'ing  to  and  fro  as  if  to  beckon  her  in  among  the 
time-stained  tombs.  Ko  sound  disturbed  this  fearful 
solitude  except  the  sighing  and  moaning  wind.  No 
face  of  man  greeted  her  as,  with  timid  steps,  she 
glided  along  the  avenues,  past  ruined  monuments, 
past  broken  tablets,  the  obliterated  records  of  the 
forgotten  dead,  and  then  out  from  these  grim  shad- 
ows to  the  river's  bank,  to  her  mother's  tomb,  where 
she  prostrated  herself,  clasping  the  cold  earth  with  a 
great  cry  of  relief  and  of  passionate  appeal,  as  if  the 
form  laid  there  these  many  years  would  then,  as  in 
the  days  of  her  childhood,  take  her  darling  child  to 
her  bosom  to  calm  her  fears,  to  assuage  her  grief,  to 


The  Sanctuaky.  110 

soothe  lier  to  rest.  The  mute  earth,  that  drank  her 
fast-falling  tears,  gave  back  no  answer  to  her  prayers. 
With  straining  eyes  she  gazed  out  across  the  ruin, 
and  over  the  dreary  waste  of  marshes  toward  the 
sea,  but  a  thick  veil  of  fog  and  mist  obscured  from 
her  sight  that  sublime  element  of  eternity.  With 
fitful  gusts  the  wind  swept  through  the  weeds  and 
grasses;  the  sky^  now  black  with  clouds,  looked 
threateningly  upon  her,  and,  turn  which  way  she 
w^ould,  repellant  nature  threw  her  back  upon  her- 
self 

She  w^as  startled  from  her  sad  thoughts  by  the  dis- 
tant sounds  of  drums  beating  the  long  roll  of  a  fune- 
ral march,  and  then  the  strains  of  a  band  of  music 
floated  through,  the  aisles  of  the  forest.  As  the 
sounds  came  nearer,  she  could  distinguish  the  plain- 
tive melody  of  the  Thulee  song.  And  then  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers  appeared  in  sight,  with  arms  re- 
versed, followed  by  pall-bearers  carrying  a  coffin 
upon  a  platform  draped  with  flags,  and  following 
this  came  a  group  of  oflicers.  The  cortege  fi-led  off' 
to  the  right,  and  halted  at  a  new-made  grave.  Agnes 
could  see  the  cofl&n  lowered  into  the  earth  ;  the  sharp 
report  of  muskets  paying  the  salute  of  honor  reached 
her  ears,  and  then,  the  last  ceremonies  finished,  the 
soldiers  again  fell  into  line,  marching   away  with 


120  The  Sanctuary. 

quick  step,  while  the  group  of  officers  silently  sepa- 
rated in  one  or  another  direction. 

To  the  excited  mind  of  Agnes,  these  obsequies, 
which  passed  so  quickly,  appeared  like  the  fragment 
of  a  tragedy  in  which  she  had  herself  been  an  actor 
— a  figure  of  her  own  troubled  life.  This  brave  sol- 
dier had  marched  many  a  weary  journey,  had  en- 
countered many  perils,  and  now  had  gone  quietly  to 
his  rest  in  the  hour  of  sublime  victor}^  Had  she  not 
also  made  the  grand  campaign  ?  But  had  she  thus 
conquered,  and  could  she  glory  in  a  rest  like  his? 
Could  this  intense  love  for  David  Dalton  be  buried 
thus  peacefully  ?  She  gazed  out  over  the  melancho- 
ly marshes,  and  into  the  mournful  mists,  as  if  the 
shifting,  fickle  spirits  of  the  air  could  give  her  an- 
swer. 

There  was  now  a  lull  in  the  wind,  which  had  been 
gradually  increasing  from  the  northeast.  Agnes 
heard  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and,  turning,  saw  Dal- 
ton approaching,  followed  by  a  soldier  leading  two 
horses.  It  was  too  late  to  avoid  a  meeting,  for  he 
had  already  recognized,  and  was  advancing  toward 
her  with  rapid  strides.  The  young  girl's  heart  al- 
most ceased  to  beat — a  sensation  of  suffi^cation  over- 
came her.  With  a  nervous  grasjD  she  tore  the  collar 
from  her  neck,  but  this  gave  no  relief.     The  light 


The  Sanctuary.  121 

passed  from  her  ej^es,  and  she  sank  upon  the  ground. . 
When  she  came  to  herself  again  she  was  resting  in 
Dalton's  arms.  Oh,  the  thankful,  gentle  rest,  the 
peace,  the  happiness  of  that  brief  moment  of  awak- 
ening consciousness!  She  was  only  too  content  to 
lie  there ;  but  Dalton's  voice  aroused  ber  to  the  cruel 
reality.  Those  were  not  the  familiar  tones,  trem- 
bling with  the  music  of  love,  but  a  soldier's  voice, 
cold  and  inflexible — the  voice  of  command. 

"That  will  do,  orderl}^,"  he  said;  "she  is  coming 
to  her  senses.  Fasten  my  horse  to  the  tree  yonder, 
then  ride  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  Savannah.  Take 
the  grand  avenue  on  your  way  up  to  the  city,  and 
hail  the  first  carriage  you  meet.  It  is  possible  you 
may  find  the  one  this  lady  came  in.     Make  haste!" 

The  clatter  of  hoofs  died  away  in  the  forest,  and 
the  estranged  lovers  were  alone.  With  a  gentle 
touch  Dalton  smoothed  away  the  hair,  and  kissed 
the  pale  face  which  lay  half-buried  in  his  cloak.  He 
at  once  divined  the  grief  which  ha-d  brought  her  to 
her  mother's  grave.  He  knew  then,  as  never  before, 
the  depth  of  her  love  for  him,  and  he  bent  over  her, 
crying  out  in  his  compassion, 

"Agnes,  Agnes,  so  loving,  so  impetuous." 

There  was  exceeding  tenderness  in  his  voice,  but 

it  did  not  deceive  Agnes  for  a  moment.     Love,  in  a 

F 


122  The  Sanctuary. 

delicate  nature  like  liers  is  wonderfully  sensitive.  It 
detects  and  analyzes  the  lightest  word  with  absolute 
certainty ;  it  translates  each  look  and  tone  into  its 
proper  language.  There  are  no  infidelities  in  the 
chemistry  of  love.  Agnes  accepted  the  truth  with 
all  its  bitterness,  and  3-et  his  words  fell  upon  her 
wounded  spirit  with  healing  balm.  The  tears  forced 
themselves  through  her  long  eyelashes,  and  she 
pressed  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  against  her  throb- 
bing heart. 

Dalton  made  no  effort  to  restrain  the  sobs  which 
shook  her  frail  form.  A  tempest  of  contending  emo- 
tions struggled  within  him  until  his  strong  nature 
bent  and  swayed  as  helplessly  as  the  tough  oak 
wrenched  by  the  gale  on  the  river  bank.  As  he 
looked  down  into  that  fair  face,  the  loving-kindness 
of  his  gentler  self  found  voice,  and  for  the  moment 
the  memory  of  his  neglected  love  came  back  to  him 
with  thrilling  power. 

''  Agnes,  dear  Agnes,  do  not  sob  so ;  it  breaks  my 
heart.  I  will  be  all  in  all  to  you.  Oh,  Agnes,  for- 
give me  the  pain  I  have  caused  jou.  But  it  is  all 
past  now.    You  shall  never  know  sorrow  any  more." 

Agnes  did  not  at  once  answer  his  loving,  soothing 
words.  For  a  while  she  shut  out  all  sense  but  that 
of  loving.     But  then  slowly  and  reluctantly  she  with- 


The  Sanctuary.  123 

drew  herself  from  his  embrace,  while  she  yet  held 
flist  his  hands  in  hers.  Then  the  grandeur  of  her 
unselfish  woman's  soul  expanded  in  earnest  utter- 
ances, pleading  as  against  herself. 

"David  Dalton,  I  have  loved  you.  I  love  you 
now  with  all  my  heart  and  soul — perhaps  you  will 
never  know  how  deeply  and  intensely.  But,  oh! 
David,  forgive  me,  I  will  not  take  you  at  your  gen- 
erous word.  You  do  not  love  me  now,  I  fear,  as  you 
did—" 

"Agnes!" 

"Do  not  speak  now.  I  ought  to  have  anticipated 
this  years  ago.  It  was  my  own  weakness,  my  crime 
which  drove  you  from  me,  but  indeed  I  forgot  all 
that  in  the  selfishness  of  my  love.  I  remembered 
too  much  of  all  that  was  good  and  noble  in  you.  I 
was  too  happy  in  these  memories ;  they  kindled  into 
life  a  pride  in  our  dear  country.  This  love  for  you, 
David,  has  sustained  me  through  bitter  trials.  My 
battles  have  not  been  fought  on  the  fields  where  you 
have  contended  so  nobly,  but  they  have  been  severe, 
and,  like  yours,  they  have  resulted  in  victory.  But 
I  owe  all  to  you.  After  I  met  you  the'  other  day  I 
saw  that  I  was  nothing  to  you.  Yet' in  the  after 
hours,  in  the  silence  of  despair,  I  would  have  taken 
you  at  your  word.     But,  David,  this  is  the  impulse 


124  TnE  Sanctuary. 

of  your  generous  heart.  You  do  not  love  me  as  you 
must  love  the  woman  who  is  to  be  your  wife." 

Her  voice  fluttered,  and  the  words  came  brokenly 
from  her  white  lips. 

''  Do  not  think  I  blame  you.  The  current  of  our 
feelings  is  sometimes  beyond  our  control.  I  could 
scarcely  have  expected  that  in  your  case  the  event 
would  have  been  otherwise  than  it  has  been.  But 
to-day  over  this  sacred  grave  I  have  struggled  with 
myself,  and  all  in  vain.  Your  own  nobleness  of 
nature  has  given  me  a  strength  which  was  denied  to 
myself  I  ought  not,  David,  and  I  can  not  be  your 
wife." 

Then  she  released  herself  entirely,  and  stood  alone, 
beautiful  in  her  self-immolation  and  with  her  divine 
resignation. 

''Agnes,"  saidDalton,  "could  you  look  into  my 
heart,  you  would  see  how  supremely  I  honor  j^ou. 
God  grant  that  I  may  live  to  prove  to  you  that  I 
love  you.  Let  us  have  faith  that  we  have  both  been 
saved  for  some  better  fate." 

There  was  a  pleading  earnestness  in  his  eyes  which 
caused  Agnes  to  tremble  with  uncontrollable  emo- 
tion, and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
would  have  fled  from  him. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  rougher,  harder  than  in  the 


The  Sanctuary. 


125 


old  days,"  he  continued.  ''  Have  patience  with  me. 
Perhaps—" 

"Oh,  David,"  she  interrupted,  "do  not  speak  in 
that  way.  I  am  bewildered.  You  must  help  me  to 
be  strong.     Thank  God,  they  have  come  at  last !" 

As  Agnes  spoke,  Mrs.  Bright's  carriage  whirled 
rapidly  out  of  the  avenue.  Dalton  placed  her  ten- 
derly within  the  carriage.  There  was  a  pressure  of 
the  hand,  and  once  again  Agnes  Saumur  and  David 
Dalton  were  parted. 


XYIL 

yXSTKUCTING  his  orderly  to  follow  the  carriage 
-^  to  Savannah,  and  to  render  the  party  any  assist- 
ance which  might  be  needed,  Dalton  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  slowly  toward  a  series  of  massive  for- 
tifications which  covered  the  river  bank.  At  this 
point,  where  there  was  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  the 
Confederate  engineers  had  constructed  broad  trav- 
erses, which  j)rotected  numerous  redoubts,  and  which 
were,  in  their  turn,  covered  in  the  rear  by  an  exten- 
sive bastioned  fort.  The  muzzles  of  ponderous  can- 
non looked  out  from  earthen  embrasures  upon  the 
lofty  parapet.  Here  an  old-fashioned  sixty- four - 
pounder  was  dismounted  from  its  carriage ;  behind 
an  embankment,  half  buried  in  the  sand,  lay  a  big- 
throated  mortar;  iron  balls,  canister,  and  shells  were 
scattered  about  just  as  they  had  been  left  by  the  gar- 
rison a  few  weeks  ago. 

Dismounting  from  his  horse.  Major  Dalton  threw 
his  reins  over  a  broken  rammer  thrust  into  the  earth, 


The  Sanctuary.  127 

and  walked  into  a  huge  embrasure,  which,  from  its 
height,  its  earthy  material,  and  scientific  construc- 
tion, almost  entirely  protected  its  defenders  from  the 
fire  of  ships  approaching  from  the  sea.  In  these  in- 
terior lines  of  defense  the  Confederates  had  learned 
a  lesson  as  to  the  incapacity  of  stone  walls  from  their 
dearly-bought  experience  at  Fort  Pulaski.  As  Dal- 
ton  gazed  up  and  down  the  river  bank,  he  could  see 
rising  from  the  earth  these  huge  mounds  of  sand, 
mounted  with  embrasured  guns,  pointing  in  every 
direction,  but  all  concentrating  upon  that  one  point 
in  the  stream  where  the  aitacking  ship  must  expose 
her  broadside  to  their  annihilating  fire. 

"A  few  weeks  ago,"  thought  the  major,  ''  and  that 
splendid  ship  could  not  have  ridden  so  securely  at 
her  anchor,  w^ithin  reach  of  these  guns,  as  she  does 
to-day.  These  powerful  engines  of  destruction  are 
harmless  enough  now.  A  few  days  since,  and  they 
kept  a  fleet  at  bay." 

Dejected  and  unhinged,  the  major's  mind  seemed 
to  rest  in  sad  harmony  with  all  this  wreck  and  ruin. 
The  spirit  of  man  is  ever  bound  in  close  relations  to 
the  earth.  The  exterior  appearance  of  nature  influ- 
ences his  being,  moulding  it  into  good  shapes  or  ill, 
moving  it  to  joy  or  sorrow.  These  affinities  or  cor- 
respondences act  and  react  in  obedience  to   great 


128  The  Saxctuaey. 

laws,  and  witli  as  miicli  certainty  and  regularity  as 
those  which  have  been  more  clearly  defined  and  sub- 
jected to  absolute  rules. 

Why  should  the  heart  leap  wdth  gladness  when 
the  sun  shines  and  the  golden  clouds  ride  gayly  across 
the  sky,  while  the  breeze  bends  with  gentle  force  the 
bousfhs,  and  rustles  the  leaves  of  the  forest- trees  ? 

Why  should  the  soul  sink  with  sadness  in  the  au- 
J:umn  days,  when  leaden  skies  overhang  the  earth, 
and  the  chill  wind  whistles  among  the  limbs  of  trees 
that  are  gaunt  and  bare  ? 

As  Dalton  looked  into  himself,  he  saw  a  spiritual 
counterpart  of  this  machinery  of  power  lying  useless 
and  helpless  about  him.  It  was  only  yesterday  that 
he  was  strong  to  will,  to  resist,  and  to  achieve.  He 
felt  within  himself  the  springs  of  power — a  reserved 
strength  which  could  assert  itself  upon  provocation ; 
but  for  the  moment  he  was  paralyzed ;  and  as  the 
major  shielded  his  body  from  the  wind  which  came 
howling  from  the  ocean,  flirting  in  his  face  now  and 
then  spiteful  splashes  of  rain,  he  recalled  the  imme- 
diate details  of  *the  scene  with  Agnes,  which  but  an 
hour  ago  had  passed  so  quickl3^ 

"How  came  this  weakness?  Why  this  sense  of 
humiliation,  unless  he  had  been  untrue  to  hjmself?" 
Again  he   asked  himself,,  with  terrible   earnestness, 


The  Sanctuary.  129 

"Do  I  love  Agnes,  after  all?  Could  I  ask  myself 
such  a  question ,  or  should  I  dread  to  ask,  if  I  really 
loved  her  ?  "What  has  become  of  the  passion  of  four 
years  ago  ?  Into  what  channel  has  it  run  ?  Has  it 
only  been  dormant  the  while,  or  is  it  lost  forever?" 
In  the  noble  qualities  which  had  been  developed  by 
sorrowful  experience  in  Agnes,  he  could  scarcely 
recognize  the  woman  he  had  once  loved.  She  was 
all  she  had  ever  been,  but  how  much  more !  The 
latent  possibilities  for  good  or  evil  are  greater  in 
women  than  in  men,  partly  because  of  the  infinite 
susceptibility  which  is  in  them,  and  partly  because 
of  the  secluded  lives  they  lead.  Woman  is  a  never- 
ceasing  mystery,  which  man  had  best  thankfully  ac- 
cept and  despair  of  divining.  But  Dalton  was  not 
reasoning — if  his  chaotic  mind  was  then  capable  of 
reasoning — from  the  stand-point  which  Agnes  had 
taken.  lie  was  rather  fighting  a  battle  with  himself. 
Dalton  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  that  charac- 
teristic.  called  "chivalric,"  too  often  misunderstood, 
or  falsely  attributed  to  absurd  bombast,  but  which 
undoubtedly  belonged  to  many  a  Southron,  and  was 
founded  in  a  noble  spirit  of  manly  self-sacrifice. 

"Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  can  never  give  my 
love  to  any  woman  but  her.    I  will  devote  my  life  to 
her.     She  will  not — she  can  not  reject  the  offering." 
F2 


XYIII. 


TT  was  late  when  the  major  returned  to  his  quar- 
-^  ters.  He  found  an  officer  awaiting  him  with  im- 
perative orders  for  his  instant  departure  upon  im- 
portant service. 

•'When  do  we  start?" 

"  The  steamer,  which  takes  up  a  party  of  pioneers, 
is  waiting  for  3'ou  at  the  wharf  It  should  start  in 
half  an  hour." 

The  major's  face  flushed  at  the  thought  of  derelic- 
tion, and  in  a  moment  the  affectionate  impulses  of 
his  nature  yielded  to  the  habit  of  action  and  to  the 
requirements  of  soldierly  discipline.  The  mission 
with  which  he  was  intrusted  was  one  of  great  im- 
portance. He  saw  that  he  was  the  avant  courier  in 
the  opening  of  a  new  and  grand  campaign.  The 
sublime  scope  of  the  new  movement  thrilled  him. 
He  saw  its  gigantic  plan,  and,  though  its  successful 
execution  was  obscured  bv  a  thousand  obstructions 


The  Sanctuary.  131 

and  perils,  its  success  would  decide  tlie  war  of  the  re- 
bellion. 

But  after  all,  in  the  midst  of  these  bright  pictures 
rose  np  the  pale,  sad  face  of  Agnes,  with  sorrowful 
eyes,  appealing  to  him.  See  her  he  must  before  en- 
tering upon  this  expedition. 

"I  will  be  with  you  in  a  few  minutes.  Wait  for 
me  here,  captain,"  and  Major  Dalton  hurried  upon 
his  errand. 

He  did  not  hope  to  overcome  the  doubts  or  the 
resolves  of  Agnes,  but  he  was  determined  to  give 
her  assurance  of  hopes  entertained  by  himself,  and 
of  his  faith  in  their  future. 

"  Well,  dar  you  ar,  Massa  David.  I  tort  yer'd  be 
comin',"  was  the  salutation  of  the  old  nurse  Sarah  at 
the  door.  "  Yer  want  to.  see  Miss  Agnes,  I  s'posc. 
But,  Massa  David,  dat  ar  chile's  not  well.  She  suf- 
fers a  heap.  She  tort  yer'd  be  comin',  an'  she  told 
me  dat  she  couldn't  bar  to  see  yer  nohow,  an'  she  gib 
me  dis  letter  fur  yer  ter  read  bime-by,  not  h'yar  in 
dis  house,  but  arterward,  somewhar." 

"  But  you  must  tell  Miss  Agnes  that  I  am  ordered 
away — that  I  leave  in  a  few  moments,  and  that  I  wish 
to  see  her  only  for  an  instant." 

"It's  no  use,  Massa  David.  Dat  chile  is  sick  in 
her  bed.     Yer  can't  see  her.     It's  right  hard,  Massa 


132  TuE  Sanctuary. 

David,  but  it's  no  use,"  and  Sarah  wiped  the  perspi- 
ration from  her  bronzed  forehead.  To  refuse  "  Massa 
David"  was  to  her  a  new  experience,  and  to  thrust 
him  away  from  a  relation  in  whose  success  her  own 
heart  was  bound  up  was  too  much  for  the  old  serv- 
ant, and  there  were  tears  in  her  kindly  eyes  as  she 
placed  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  reiterated, 

"It's  no  use,  Massa  David;  yer  mus'  go  right 
away." 

"  Well,  well,  tell  3'our  mistress  I  will  return  again," 
said  the  major,  as,  securing  the  letter,  he  hurried  from 
the  house. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  read  Agnes's  letter 
hj  the  moonlight  which  at  intervals  broke  through 
the  masses  of  black  clouds,  lightiug  up  the  deck  of 
the  steamer.  And  these  were  the  words  which  he 
read,  steeped  in  the  bitterness  of  sorrow : 

"The  tears  are  falling  fast.  I  can  not  keep  them  back  and  write 
what  must  be  written,  for,  if  you  were  with  rac  now,  I  could  not 
speak  these  words.  Oh  I  the  unbearable  sorrow  to  say  Good-by, 
and  forever. 

"No,  David,  we  must  not  see  each  other  again.  I  could  con- 
vince you  that  this  separation  is  for  the  best,  but  you  must  compre- 
hend it  all  for  yourself.  Do  not  attempt  to  persuade  me,  nor  your- 
self, from  the  only  path  we  ought  to  pursue.  You  will  not  regret 
this  by-and-by.  I  fly  from  you— from  myself.  The  Agnes  Saumur 
of  the  past  no  longer  exists.  There  are  solemn  duties  before  you — 
to  your  brother,  to  your  country.  Forgive  me  the  pain  I  have 
caused  you.     Farewell.  Agnes." 


The  Sanctuary.  133 

Out  of  tlie  nobility  of  loving  came  tlicse  tearful 
words.  It  was  not  tliat  her  pride  revolted  against 
Dalton.  She  refused  to  permit  him  to  make  a  sacri- 
fice for  what  he  believed  would  be  her  happiness. 
She  trampled  self  under  foot,  and  stood  between  him 
and  his  generous  impulses. 

But  her  mediation  was  unavailing.  The  conflict 
in  Dalton's  soul  had  already  begun.  It  was  not  the 
old  conflict  renewed.  Duty,  now  disarmed,  was  no 
longer  an  element  in  the  field.  Honor,  which  some- 
times takes  the  guise  of  love,  had  here  no  place.  All 
shams  and  pretenses  were  cast  aside.  The  life  which 
scorned  love  when  love  could  no  longer  meet  the 
emergencies  of  life,  now  swayed  toward  a  loving 
presence,  which  was  stronger  than  naked  duty  only 
because  it  was  transformed  into  the  divinity  of  self- 
immolation  and  of  absolute  self-renunciation. 

And  the  major  stretched  himself  upon  the  steam- 
er's deck,  vaguely  yearning  for  some  light  to  guide 
him  through  this  labyrinth;  thankful  for  the  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  smothered  breathings  of  the 
steam  monster  underneath  him;  thankful  for  the 
night  which  hid  his  face  and  thought  from  human 
observation;  unmindful  of  the  spectral  cloud-shad- 
ows (phasing  each  other  across  the  watery  waste  and 
the  misty  main  land;  unmindful  of  the  gloomy  forest 


13^ 


The  Sanctuary, 


opening  its  giant  arms  of  darkness  to  receive  these 
shadows;  unconscious  of  the  destiny  which  Fate, 
with  subtle  fingers,  was  weaving  about  him. 


M 


XIX. 

'AJOR  DALTON,  after  a  week  had  passed, 
found  himself  still  on  the  bank  of  the  Savan- 
nah Kiver,  contending  stoutly  with  the  turbid,  rush- 
in  o-  waters.  The  relentless  flood  tore  in  pieces  the 
canvas  pontoon  boats,  uplifted  and  carried  away 
bridges,  tossing,  twisting,  and  sweeping  away  the 
corduroy  roads;  wagons  in  the  causeways,  wagons  in 
the  fields,  wagons  every  where  struggled  for  a  time, 
and  then  settled  in  the  mud,  and  were  finally  aban- 
doned. The  mules  waded,  and  plunged,  and  swam 
until  their  heavy  heads  and  long  ears  carried  them 
beneath  the  all-absorbing  waters. 

It  is  wellnigh  impossible  to  convey  to  the  mind 
of  a  stranger  the  nature  of  the  country  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  Savannah.  Said  a  Confederate  general 
officer,  "It  would  have  taken  our  army,  under  the 
most  flivorable  auspices,  three  years  to  have  built 
the  roads  over  which  Sherman  marched  to  the  Sal- 
kahatchic." 


136  The  Sanctuary. 

And  to-day,  as  those  ^vho  accomplislied  these  won- 
derful feats  of  patience  and  ingenuity  look  back  upou> 
their  triumph  over  apparently  insurmountable  obsta- 
cles, they  wonder  at  themselves,  and  thank  God  that 
they  were  not  left  to  starve  or  drown  in  the  swamps 
and  rice-fields. 

Meanwhile  the  brigade  which  had  been  sent  with 
Major  Dalton  had  become  a  division.  By  one  means 
or  another  the  troops  were  arriving  rapidly,  and  the 
division  grew  into  a  corps,  and  then  an  army.  It 
was  the  first  scene  in  the  second  stage  of  the  Grand 
March. 

In  the  struggle  between  man  and  the  elements, 
Nature  in  the  main  has  had  the  worst  of  it,  but  now 
and  then  she  asserts  herself,  and  human  forces  must 
stand  still  or  give  way.  The  left  wing  of  Sherman's 
army  stood  still  for  a  while  on  the  higher  southern 
bank  of  the  river  in  January,  1865,  while  the  waters 
with  defiant,  drunken  glee  ran  riotous  over  the  land. 

Major  Dalton,  with  the  rest,  watched  and  waited, 
held  to  his  post  by  the  obligations  of  duty.  But  he 
was  not  impatient.  These  hours  of  rest  were  not 
fruitless.  The  finer  sensibilities  of  his  nature  were 
gaining  strength.  There  was  springing  into  life  that 
richer  and  more  generous  growth  of  love  which  pre- 
ludes its  "  second  harvest." 


XX. 

AT  this  moment,  while  Dalton  stands  upon  the 
bank  of  the  river,  self-questioning,  at  Savannah, 
an  ocean  steam-ship  swings  slowly  into  the  stream. 
On  her  quarter-deck,  separated  from  the  group  of 
passengers,  there  sits,  clinging  to  the  rail,  a  gentle, 
sad-eyed  woman.  Fast-falling  tears  find  their  way 
down  her  pale  face  as  she  waves  adieu  to  an  old 
negress  weeping  and  moaning  among  the  idle  spec- 
tators on  the  pier.  And  then,  with  listless  indiffer- 
ence, the  lady  upon  the  quarter-deck  hears  the  pad- 
dles which  beat  against  the  yielding  waters.  The 
great  vessel  moves  among  the  throng  of  shipping 
away  from  the  noble  warehouses,  past  cotton-presses 
and  steam-mills,  past  the  great  city ;  gathering  speed 
w^ith  the  outflowing  tide,  she  darts  through  the  nar- 
row, dangerous  pass,  avoiding  the  iron-peaked  tim- 
bers planted  in  the  stream  to  pierce  to  destruction 
the  Yankee   fleets.     The  lady  gives  little  heed  to 


138  The  Sanctuary. 

Fort  Jackson,  frowning  down  upon  them  witli  its 
iron-throated  sentinels.  Her  eyes  are  fixed  upon 
the  spires  of  the  church  under  whose  shadow  she 
had  glided — oh,  so  joyously ! — from  childhood  into 
womanhood. 

The  ship  speeds  swiftly  on  past  signal-station  and 
ruined  earth-work,  past  sunken  ships  whose  skele- 
tons rise  from  the  sullen  waters  as  if  clutching,  with 
phantom  fingers,  for  help  which  can  not  come,  past 
sand-spits,  where  sea-birds,  silent  and  sad,  sat  resting 
from  their  battle  with  ocean  ^orms,  until  the  city  is 
now  but  a  checkered  patch  upon  the  gray  horizon. 
And  yet  the  ship  moved  on,  giving  wide  berth  to 
the  treacherous  bar  where  the  light-house  stands, 
which,  four  years  ago,  by  treacherous  hands  had 
been  robbed  of  its  warning  signal.  And  now  she 
plunges  into  the  white -capped  waves,  outriders  to 
old  Neptune's  chariot.  The  distant  city  has  faded 
into  the  clouds,  the  church  spire  is  a  thin,  black  line 
against  the  sky,  and  at  length  even  that  has  vanish- 
ed. Pulaski,  with  its  encasements  of  brick  and  stone, 
sinks  now  into  the  gray  and  purple  distance.  The 
martello  tower  on  lone  Tybee,  time -defying  and 
mysterious  relic  of  some  ancient  people,  crumbles 
among  the  yellow  sands,  and  all  that  may  be  seen 
of  the  solid  earth  is  a  spectral  boundary -line,  which 


The'  Sanctuary.  139 

is  soon  swallowed  np  by  tlie  leaping  waves,  crimson- 
crested  by  the  setting  sun. 

A  film  covers  the  lady's  eye,  coming  between  her 
and  this  fading  vision.  The  ship  has  gone  out  upon 
the  broad  ocean,  and  Agnes  Saumur  has  bidden  adieu 
to  home,  to  love,  and  to  David  Dalton. 


XXI 

/^iSTE  day  tlie  rain  ceased  falling,  the  waters  be- 
^^  gan  to  subside,  and  the  low  lands  to  appear  in 
sight  again,  and  then  brigade  and  division  began  to 
cross  the  river,  and  haul  out  upon  all  the  available 
roads.  Every  possible  avenue  of  travel  was  made 
use  of  Commanders  were  instructed  to  take  one 
and  another  route,  to  march  upon  separate  roads  in 
so  far  as  they  could  be  found,  but  they  were  all  to 
concentrate  at  a  designated  point. 

And  then  commenced  the  work  of  the  staff  corps. 
At  such  times,  in  the  actual  movement  of  troops,  the 
officers  of  the  line  are  occupied  with  the  care  of  their 
immediate  commands.  Their  duties  are  important, 
but  they  are  well  defined.  It  is  far  different  with 
the  staff  corps.  The  staff  officers  are  the  arms  and 
legs  of  the  general,  and  in  some  cases  in  this  war 
they  were  his  brains  also.  No  duty  can  be  more  ar- 
duous than  theirs  when  the  army  is  in  actual  motion 


The  Sanctuary.  141 

tlirougli  the  enemy's  country.  The  staff  officer  must 
be  familiar  with  the  details  of  the  organization  and 
the  work  they  have  to  perform.  Of  all  the  three 
branches  of  the  service,  military  topography  should 
be  at  his  fingers'  ends. 

The  staff  corps  in  the  Union  army  was  anomalous 
in  its  condition.  In  most  cases  it  was  not  provided 
for  in  the  regulations.  At  one  time  it  was  supposed 
that  a  position  on  a  general's  staff  was  what  the  sol- 
dier's call  a  "soft  thing;"  but  that  idea  vanished  at 
length,  as  more  of  the  truth  was  known. 

Perhaps  no  army  ever  came  into  existence  which 
so  much  needed  an  efficient  staff  corps  as  did  the 
Army  of  the  Union,  and  certainly  no  army  ever  cre- 
ated one  so  rapidly.  The  civil  engineer  on  the  West- 
ern prairie,  who  dropped  his  chain  and  compass  and 
took  up  the  sword,  in  a  month's  experience  could  lay 
out  a  line  of  fortifications  as  well,  and  build  a  bridge 
as  quickly  and  as  strongly  as  his  brother  officer  who 
had  left  West  Point  at  the  head  of  his  class.  The 
Boston  mechanic,  who  hung  up  his  apron  and  enlist- 
ed in  Nims's  Battery,  in  a  short  time  knew  as  much 
about  gunnery,  and  the  way  shot  and  shell  were 
made,  as  did  the  chief  of  the  Ordnance  Bureau; 
while  the  adjutant  general's  department  found  its 
wisest,  clearest  heads  and  nimblest  hands  from  among 


U2 


The  Sanctuary. 


those  who  had  served  in  the  shipping  and  counting- 
house.  All  of  which  is  not  cited  as  an  argument 
against  military  education  in  the  schools,  but  as  an 
evidence  of  the  extraordinary  adaptability  of  the 
American  people  to  fill  the  strange  positions  to  which 
they  were  so  suddenly  called. 


XXII. 


XT  was  in  the  exercise  of  his  duties  as  inspector  of 
-^  his  corps  that  our  old  acquaintance,  Colonel  Lev- 
eridge,  accompanied  by  Major  Dalton,  was  reconnoi- 
tring the  country  one  day  in  the  early  part  of  Feb- 
ruary. 

Dalton,  having  fulfilled  the  duty  which  had  called 
him  from  Savannah,  was  seeking  an  opportunity  to 
rejoin  his  head-quarters,  which  at  the  time  were 
moving  northward  from  Beaufort  with  the  right 
wing  of  the  army.  For  several  hours  Dalton  and 
Colonel  Leveridge  had  been  vainly  searching  for  a 
road  which  was  clearly  enough  marked  upon  the 
map  of  South  Carolina,  but  which  their  most  patient 
endeavors  had  not  succeeded  in  locating  in  fact. 
Either  this  highway  was  in  disuse  in  A.D.  1865,  or 
it  had  been  overflowed.  So  they  floundered  along 
toward  a  group  of  negro  huts,  whose  angular  form 
broke  the  straight  horizon  line  separating  the  distant 
rice-fields  from  the  red  sky. 


1-4-i  The  Sanctuary. 

"  There  must  have  been  troops  tliere,  either  the 
rebels  or  ours,  for  that  column  of  smoke  indicates 
house-burning,"  said  Dalton. 

Leveridge  quickly  raised  his  field-glass  to  his  eyes, 
while  the  party  halted. 

"  There  is  quite  a  large  body  of  men  going  into 
camp.  Yes ;  and  I  can  see  off  to  the  left  a  train  of 
wagons  slowly  moving  up  to  the  place,"  replied  Lev- 
eridge. "  They  are  our  soldiers,  too,  for  I  can  dis- 
tinguish a  crowd  of  men  with  blue  coats  gathered 
around  a  camp-fire." 

The  party  pressed  on,  and,  as  they  neared  the 
place,  they  could  see  squads  of  soldiers  running 
hither  and  thither,  carrying  off  rails,  boards,  and 
straw  to  be  used  for  fire  and  bedding.  The  smoking 
timbers  were  tumbled  among  the  ruined  foundations 
of  what  appeared  once  to  have  been  a  large  house. 
In  front  of  a  row  of  negro  cabins  were  groups  of 
black  people  standing  and  staring  in  silent  wonder 
at  this  sudden  irruption  of  strangers.  ISTear  a  largo 
camp-fire  stood  several  officers. 

"I  declare,"  exclaimed  Leveridge,  "we  have  struck 
a  Massachusetts  regiment.  There  is  Barnard,  and 
Oakland,  and  the  rest.  Halloa,  Oakland,  how  are 
3'ou?"  he  shouted. 

"Why,  Horton's   here!"  broke   out   Dalton,  who 


The  Sanctuary.  '       145 

had  recognized  his  friend.     ''How  did  he  get  over 
to  this  wing  of  the  army  ?" 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  officers  had  dismount- 
ed, and  were  shaking  hands,  embracing,  and  exhib- 
iting such  demonstrations  of  hearty  friendship  as 
would  seem  absurd  any  where  out  of  the  army. 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  this  ?"  asked  Leveridge. 
"Here,  for  five  hours,  we  have  been  hunting  up  a 
road  for  our  corps  to  march  over,  but  haven't  found 
so  much  as  a  tow-path." 

''March  over!"  cried  Oakland.  "Why,  colonel, 
we've  been  swimming.  Look  at  these  soldiers ;  look 
at  us.  Tell  me  the  color  of  my  trowsers,  if  you  can. 
We've  been  swimming,  I  tell  you,  just  four  miles, 
and  this  is  the  first  dry  land  we  have  seen,  and  isn't 
it  a  Paradise  ?" 

"The  semi-nude  condition  of  some  of  these  black 
people  is  about  the  only  suggestion  of  the  Garden 
of  Eden  that  I  can  see,"  said  Leveridge,  as,  looking 
around,  he  worked  a  passage-way  through  his  thick 
mustache  to  make  way  for  a  cup  which  had  been 
handed  him,  containing  a  liquid  substance  strongly 
resembling  water. 

Meanwhile  Dalton  and  Horton  were  reciting  to 
each  other  their  varied  experiences  since  the  two 
wings  of  the  army  had  separated  at  Savannah. 

G 


146  The  Sanctuary. 

"  Not  hearing  any  thing  of  the  advance  of  the  left 
wing  for  several  days,  the  general  has  sent  me  across 
country  to  find  it.  I  had  but  just  dismounted  when 
you  came  in  sight.  I  shall  halt  here  for  an  hour  or 
two  to  feed  and  rest  the  horses,"  said  Horton.  "  Our 
columns  have  been  concentraJ;ed  at  Pocotaligo  for 
the  last  two  days,  although  we  have  not  been  idle. 
General  Howard  is  with  the  Seventeenth  Corps, 
which  forms  our  right,  and  is  trying  to  force  the 
passage  of  the  Salkahatchie  at  Beaufort's  Bridge. 
After  I  left  head-quarters  3^esterday  morning  I  took 
a  southwest  course.  About  ten  miles  out  we  ran 
into  a  squad  of  rebel  cavahy,  but  managed  to  get 
through  with  only  one  man  hurt,  and  he  not  serious- 
ly.    Do  you  know  where  we  are.  Colonel  Barnard  ?" 

''Not  precisely,"  answered  that  officer.  "Since 
we  came  upon  this  place  we  have  been  trying  to  get 
the  brigade  into  camp.  These  flat  lands,  so  sparsely 
inhabited,  are  about  as  blind  a  country  to  march 
through  as  I  ever  saw,  but  I  am  sure  we  are  march- 
ing in  a  northwest  direction,  and  that  Loper's  Cross- 
roads, Allandale,  Fiddler's  Pond,  etc.,  are  somewhere 
ahead  of  us.  Perhaps  that  negro  can  give  us  infor- 
mation. Halloa,  there,  Sam,  Bill,  Csesar,  Jack,  George 
Washington,  come  here ;  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

The  man  thus  addressed  was  black  as  a  coal,  with- 


The  Sanctuaky.  147 

out  any  trace  of  white  blood  in  color  or  feature.  He 
gazed  vacantly  at  the  group  of  of&cers.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  he  was  addressed,  but  understood  not  a 
word. 

"  Come  here !  Are  you  deaf?"  again  cried  the  col- 
onel.    The  poor  fellow  did  not  move. 

"  Bob !"  shouted  Oakland  to  a  young  negro  serv- 
ant who  had  joined  the  regiment  near  Milledge- 
ville,  and  who  was  seated  upon  a  camp-chest  busily 
employed  in  stripping  a  chicken.  As  he  came  sham- 
bling up  to  the  party,  there  was  on  his  face  a  grin  of 
ecstatic  delight  for  which  there  was  no  especial  occa- 
sion. "  I  wish  you  to  talk  to  that  black  man.  Stop 
your  grinning." 

"  Yaas,  cap'n,"  and  Bob  broke  in  a  fearful  "  Ki-yi," 
which  was  intended  for  a  laugh.  At  the  same  time 
he  slapped  his  legs  with  his  soldier's  cap,  which  was 
ornamented  with  the  chicken's  wing-feathers. 

"Ask  him,"  said  Oakland,  ''to  whom  this  planta- 
tion belongs,  what  is  his  own  name,  and  where  this 
road  leads  to." 

"Yaas,  cap'n,"  ejaculated  Bob,  and  he  appealed  to 
the  black  man  in  a  pompous  manner,  which  he  in- 
tended should  inspire  him  with  some  idea  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  occasion. 

''Look  a  heyar,  sah.     Wha  yer  no  speak  ter  de 


148  The  Sanctuary. 

cap'n  ?  He's  one  ob  Massa  Sherman's  company,  dat 
he  is.  Who's  yer  massa?  Wha  yer  stan  dere  star- 
in'  like  a  turkey -gobbler  ?  Wha  don  yer  talk  right 
out?" 

The  plantation  slave  gazed  into  Bob's  face  as  if  he 
sought  for  some  words  familiar  to  his  ear.  He  mut- 
tered some  strange  gibberish,  and  then  sank  back 
into  an  expression  of  utter  stupidity. 

"Cap'n,"  said  Bob,  desperately,  "he  wus  nor  a 
down-South  nigger.     He's  no  shuck,  sah,  nohow." 

"  We  will  try  him  in  some  other  language,"  said 
Oakland.     "  You  may  clear  out,  Bob." 

"Est  ce  que  vous  parlez  Frangais?" 

The  negro's  face  was  as  blank  as  an  Egyptian  stat- 
ue, which  he  resembled  not  a  little. 

"Sprechen  sie  Deutsch?"  cried  Leveridge,  with  a 
broad,  thick  accent,  which  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  month's  residence  in  the  Bowery. 

Evidently  the  man  had  never  tasted  lager  bier,  nor 
sunned  himself  beneath  the  walls  of  Gottingen  Uni- 
versity. 

"  Parlati  Italiano  ?"  asked  another.  But  the  negro 
was  ignorant  of  the  land  of  Petrarch  and  Michael 
Angelo. 

"Hablato  Espanola?"  resumed  Oakland. 

At  the  musical  sounds  of  the  Spanish  tongue  the 


.m:-^. 


We  cau't  niakn  any  thing  out  of  the  poor  fellow."  ?ai(i  Colonel  Parnard. 


The   Sanctuary.  151 

poor  slave's  eyes  brightened  for  a  moment.  He  ut- 
tered some  unmeaning  sounds,  hesitated,  and  ceased 
speaking. 

''We  can't  make  any  thing  out  of  the  poor  fel- 
low," said  Colonel  Barnard.  "I  wonder  who  and 
what  he  is.     He  certainly  is  neither  deaf  nor  dumb." 

"  If  you  were  to  live  in  the  South  many  years,  you 
would  find  some  strange  characters  upon  these  plan- 
tations," remarked  Dalton.  "  This  man  is  evidently 
a  recent  importation  fron^  Africa,  and  speaks  only 
his  native  tongue.  You  observed  in  him  signs  of 
intelligence  when  he  heard  the  sounds  of  the  Spanish 
language,  which  were  most  likely  an  echo  of  his  life 
in  the  Spanish  barracoons,  where  these  people  are 
often  kept  for  weeks  before  the  traders  can  get  them 
on  board  the  slave-ships." 

"Do  you  imagine  that  slaves  from  the  African 
coast  have  been  brought  into  the  South  during  the 
war?"  demanded  Hortou,  with  an  expression  of  sur- 
prise and  indignation. 

"  Certainly,"  was  Dalton's  response ;  "I  am  sure 
of  it ;  and  more  than  that,  before  the  war,  cargo  after 
cargo  of  these  wretched  creatures  were  landed  here. 
What  was  there  to  prevent  a  slave-ship  from  run- 
ning up  the  Broad,  the  Ogeechee,  or  the  Altamaha 
rivers,  and  landing  a  cargo  of  human  beings,  whose 


152  The   Sanctuary. 

bodies  and  souls  cost  but  a  few  trinkets  in  Africa, 
but  who  were  worth  from  five  hundred  to  a  thousand 
dollars  a  head  on  these  bottom-lands  ?  This  negro,  I 
should  suppose,  was  from  the  south  of  Africa ;  but 
you  will  find  upon  the  plantations  a  hundred  differ- 
ent types  and  tribes  from  all  parts  of  Africa.  Near 
Darwin,  in  Georgia,  before  the  war,  I  could  have 
shown  you  a  Foulah  negro,  who  was  born  and  lived 
in  the  country  of  Soudan,  in  the  north  of  Africa. 
He  is  a  strict  Mohamnj||dan,  has  his  Koran  in  the 
Arabic,  and  reads  it  daily.  He  abstains  from  spirit- 
uous liquors,  and  keeps  all  the  fasts,  particularly 
those  of  the  Eamadan.  What  has  become  of  this 
man  during  the  war  it  would  be  a  curious  thing  to 
know,  for  he  was  a  most  uncommon  character." 

"He  is  an  exception,  then,  to  the  large  majority 
of  these  unfortunate  people,"  interposed  Leveridge. 
"I  have  had  occasion  to  travel  over  hundreds  of 
these  plantations  during  our  campaigns,  and  ninety- 
nine  out  of  one  hundred  ©f  the  field-hands  are  more 
senseless  than  I  ever  believed  human  beings  could 
be." 

"  That  is  a  melancholy  truth,"  said  Horton,  "and 
whether  or  not  we  conquer  the  South,  what  a  future 
of  woe  have  these  poor  creatures !" 

"  That  and  the  future  rehabilitation  of  the  South 


The  Sanctuary.  153 

are  two  questions  which  fill  me  with  forebodings," 
answered  Dalton. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Horton,  "I  am  full  of  hope. 
It  will  require  generations  to  educate  these  blacks 
out  of  their  degradation;  and  as  for  their  former 
masters,  I  believe  the  horrible  enormity  of  the  vice 
of  mastership  was  the  poisoned  virus  which  incited 
to  this  treasonable  crusade  against  our  government. 
But,  with  freedom  to  the  blacks,  I  have  faith  that 
there  will  come  about  a  gradual  but  a  complete  reor- 
ganization of  society  on  principles  of  morality,  jus- 
tice, and  patriotism." 

''I  agree  with  you,  Horton,"  said  Barnard.  ''By 
George !  we  have  known  to  our  bitter  cost  that  these 
Southerners  are  brave,  and  have  given  up  their  prop- 
erty and  their  lives  for  what  they  believe  to  be  the 
truth.  Yes,  gentlemen,  they  have  a  foundation  of 
manliness  which  will  bear  good  fruit  one  of  these 
days." 

"  I  can  not  forget  Andersonville,  Salisbury,  Libby, 
and  Belle  Isle,"  answered  Dalton,  with  emphasis. 
"  My  personal  wrongs  I  may  be  able  to  put.  aside, 
but  the  atrocities  committed  upon  our  prisoners  will 
never  pass  from  my  memory." 

"  Let  us  make  a  distinction,  Dalton,  between  the 

authors  of  these  crimes  and  thousands  of  people  who 
Ct2 


154  The  Sanctuary. 

have  been  either  forced  into  the  war  or  have  been 
deluded,"  said  Horton. 

"It's  hard  to  make  distinctions  where  a  nation 
(and  the  South  has  people  enough  to  make  up  half  a 
dozen  German  Principalities)  is  as  large  as  the  South. 
Now—" 

Leveridge  suddenly  halted  in  what  he  had  evident- 
ly intended  should  be  a  long  dissertation.  For  a  full 
half  hour  his  eyes  had  wandered  in  the  direction  of 
the  jubilant  Bob.  Following  the  movements  of  that 
individual  with  an  eager,  mysterious  curiosity,  his 
ear  now  caught  the  tinkling  sound  of  a  bell.  He 
dropped  most  unceremoniously  the  subject  of  recon- 
struction, and  asked, 

''  Why  does  that  bell  ring?" 

"It  is  the  method  sometimes  adopted  in  certain 
semi-civilized  portions  of  the  globe  for  announcing 
dinner,"  answered  Oakland,  with  gravity. 

The  party  of  hungry  officers  did  not  wait  for  far- 
ther explanation,  but  moved  with  becoming  speed 
toward  the  big  wooden  shutter  which  had  been  sud- 
denly converted  into  a  dinner-table. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?"  asked  Leveridge, 
as  he  gazed  upon  a  white  linen  table-cloth  which 
covered  the  rough  board.  "Absolutely  a  table- 
cloth, white  and  clean !     My  duty  as  inspector  re- 


The  Sanctuary.  155 

# 

quires  me  to  make  a  note  of  tliis.  Ali!"<lie  contin- 
ued, as  he  made  furious  assault  upon  the  chicken, 
potatoes,  rice,  and  other  luxuries  which  loaded  his 
plate,  "the  army  is  fast  becoming  demoralized  when 
its  soldiers  eat  off  from  linen,  and  pure  linen  at 
that!" 

"  We  could  explain,  colonel,"  answered  Oakland, 
who  before  the  war  had  never  known  severer  hard- 
ship than  that  which  a  nervous  sensibility  experi- 
ences from  a  Boston  east  wind;  "but  does  not  Bal- 
zac say  that  '  digestion,  in  employing  human  forces, 
excites  an  interior  sensation  that,  with  gourmands,  is 
equivalent  to  the  enjoyment  of  love?  Many  a  sui- 
cide has  been  averted  at  the  edge  of  death  by  the  re- 
membrance of  a  good  dinner.'  Let  us  eat,  then,  and 
be  happy." 

If  a  stranger  to  army  life  had  broken  in  upon  this 
party  of  light-hearted,  jovial  men  eating  their  rough- 
ly-prepared meal,  or  if  his  eye  had  wandered  across 
the  inclosure  to  the  line  of  shelter-tents,  where  groups 
of  soldiers  could  be  seen  laughing,  or  singing  and 
dancing  to  the  music  of  a  violin,  he  would  scarcely 
believe  that  these  men  had  all  day  waded  through 
mud  and  water,  driving  before  them  the  enemy's 
cavalry,  or  that  they  imagined  that  the  morrow  was 
to  bring  another  day  of  just  such  painful  toil,  or  per- 


156 


The  Sanctuary. 


haps  of  battle  and  death.  Xo.  Tbey  were  as  happy 
as  brave  men  may  be  —  as  happy  as  if  the  past  had 
no  remembered  hardship,  or  the  future  no  appre- 


hended danger. 


XXIIl. 

IT  was  fortunate  for  Dalton  and  Horton  that  the 
cavalry  corps  of  the  army,  under  Kilpatrick,  was 
moving  forward  the  morning  after  the  rencontre  of 
these  two  soldier  friends.     War  does  not  stifle  and 
extinguish  the  finer  sensibilities  of  the  soldier,  so 
that  he  does  not  shrink  from  traveling  in  the  track 
of  an  invading  army.    He  sees  and  sympathizes  with 
his  comrades  pierced  and  torn  by  shot  and  shell,  but 
this  suffering,  which  is  reflex— for  it  may  any  mo- 
ment become  his  own  case— is  displaced  by  the  ex- 
citement of  the  hour,  by  the  drums  beating,  the  shrill 
bugle-calls,  the  roar  of  cannon  and  rattle  of  musket- 
ry, the  whirl  and  eddy  of  the  fight,  the  sight  of 
gleaming  bayonets,  the  wild  charge,  and  the  exult- 
ant cheers  of  the  victors.     Your  loved  friend  falls  at 
your  side, 

"  Are  you  hurt  badly  ?" 

With  a  smile  upon  his  white  lips,  he  answers, 


158  The  Sanctuary. 

"I  think  not;  don't  wait  for  me.  That  shout 
comes  from  our  boys;  they  are  carrying  the  left  of 
the  line.     Go  ahead !  tell  me  all  about  it  afterward." 

You  see  him  carried  to  tte  rear;  you  press  on 
with  the  victorious  host,  and  for  the  moment  he  is 
forgotten.  He  came  there  and  took  his  chance.  He 
is  wounded.  He  may  die.  But  he  scorns  pity,  an^ 
calmly  reads  his  fate  in  the  surgeon's  eyes.  Your 
turn  may  come  next,  and  you  can  not  waste  the 
hour  in  useless  lament.  You  accept  whatever  may 
be  thrown  up  for  you  in  this  game  of  war — a  bullet 
or  a  brevet.  The  field  after  a  battle  has  its  horrors, 
but  the  dead  sleep  peacefully  there,  and  the  memory 
of  their  heroism  is  inspiring.  The  poor  body  may 
lie  in  the  swamp  or  under  the  hill-side,  but  the  soul 
which  fought  the  battle  still  fights  on  elsewhere  in 
some  other  sphere. 

But  oh !  the  woe,  the  utter  desolation  which  fol- 
lows in  the  footsteps  of  an  invading  foe!  Fields 
wasted,  fences  destroyed,  granaries  swept  clean  of 
corn,  crops  trampled  out  of  life,  cattle  of  all  kinds, 
and  every  vegetable  which  may  be  used  or  eaten,  all 
swept  into  the  ravenous  maw  of  the  marching  mon- 
ster! The  traveler  upon  the  far  Western  prairie, 
away  beyond  the  outposts  of  civilization,  sees  even 
in  the  wild  desert  which  surrounds  him  the  promise 


The   Sanctuary.  159 

of  glorious  things.  But  here,  where  the  man  in  arms 
treads,  the  fruit  is  blasted,  the  stalk  withered.  Your 
heart  aches  at  the  wanton  waste.  You  ride  swiftly 
by  through  deserted  villages.  You  are  deaf — for 
you  must  be — to  the  cries  of  fainting  mothers  cover- 
ing their  starved  dead  children  among  the  ashes  of 
homes  once  so  happy !  You  must  press  on  with  piti- 
less haste,  and  shut  out  from  eye,  and  ear,  and  heart 
these  despairing  moans  -of  helpless  ones — these  vi- 
sions of  death.  Happy  will  you  be  if  you  can  forget 
them  also. 

As  between  treason  and  a  vindication  of  the  dig- 
nity of  the  law,  the  account  .was  more  than  balanced 
in  these  early  winter  days  of  1865. 

Our  two  soldier  friends  were  glad  to  take  some 
other  way  to  their  commands.  The  second  day  of 
their  journey  brought  the  column  far  northward  of 
what  was  likely  to  be  the  head  of  column  to  the 
right  wing,  and  the  two  officers  concluded  at  once  to 
strike  across  the  country  in  its  search. 


XXIY. 

^T^HE  party  was  strengthened  by  a  company  of 
-*-  tried  veterans,  under  command  of  a  Captain 
Esting,  and,  as  thfey  rode  away  upon  a  side  road, 
leading  in  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  the  course 
they  had  been  pursuing,  they  passed  into  a  more 
thickly  settled  district.  The  black  stalks  of  last 
year's  cotton  was  standing  in  the  fields.  Large 
stacks  of  corn-fodder  were  piled  up  here  and  there. 
The  fences  were  in  good  order,  and  about  the  barns, 
outhouses,  and  dwellings  of  the  planters  there  was 
an  air  of  negligence — that  inevitable  attendant  upon 
unpaid  labor — yet  there  were  many  indications  of 
wealth  and  respectability.  The  white  inhabitants 
were  all  of  the  female  sex.  Now  and  then  there 
was  a  decrepit  old  man  seen  in  his  arm-chair  upon 
the  piazza,  or  some  half-witted  boy,  who  stared  va- 
cantly at  the  troop  of  horsemen  as  they  moved  by, 
but  no  able-bodied  men  were  to  be  found,  except  the 


The  Sanctuary.  1^1 

negroes,  who,  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes,  flocked  from 
th^ir  work  and  their  cabins  to  the  roadside  to  see,  as 
they  termed  them,  "  dese  strange  people." 

Little  halt  did  our  party  of  soldiers  make  except 
to  ask  some  question  as  to  the  direction  of  the  road, 
or  if  there  were  any  of  the  enemy  near.  But  they 
were  marching  out  of  the  main  routes  of  travel,  and 
the  inhabitants  could  not,  or  would  not,  give  them 
any  satisfactory  information. 

"  It  is  about  an  hour  before  sunset,  and  I  think  we 
have  come  twenty  miles  since  we  left  Kilpatrick," 
said  Horton. 

"Yes,"  replied  his  friend,  "we  have  come  fully 
that  distance,  and  it  is  about  time  we  saw  something 
of  our  foraging  parties ;  they  usually  spread  out^fif- 
teen  or  twenty  miles  from  the  main  column." 

"Unless  the  rebels  are  pretty  thick  at  the  front," 
remarked  Captain  Esting;  "and  I  think  we  have 
found  one  or  the  other  of  these  now,  for  I  see  the  ad- 
vanced guard  has  halted  in  the  road.  I'll  soon  find 
out,"  and  he  gave  his  horse  the  spur  and  dashed  for- 
ward down  the  road. 

"  Our  men  are  firing!"  cried  Dalton. 
"  And  they're  coming  back,"  said  Horton.    "  Close 
up  well,  and  move  forward  at  a  trot!"  he  shouted  to 
the  officer  in  command  of  the  detachment  of  troopers. 


162  The   Saxctuary. 

They  soon  met  the  advanced  guard,  now  retreat- 
ing, and  firing  rapidly  as  they  fell  back.  Gaining 
the  brow  of  a  slight  elevation,  Horton  came  in  sight 
of  a  squadron  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  a  few  hundred 
yards  ahead  in  the  road.  They  w^ere  somewhat  con- 
fused by  the  deadly  fire  from  the  repeating  rifles  of 
the  Union  soldiers,  but  were  evidently  preparing  to 
make  a  charge.  Farther  on,  and  to  the  left  of  the 
road,  was  a  large  house  in  the  centre  of  an  open 
field ;  about  the  house  and  in  the  field  were  parties 
of  horsemen  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  some  try- 
ing to  catch  their  animals,  others  saddling,  and  all  in 
commotion  at  what  must  have  been  to  them  an  un- 
expected approach  of  the  Yankees. 

At  a  glance  Horton  saw  that  his  little  party  were 
more  than  twice  outnumbered. 

''We  have  the  advantage  of  position,  and  are  pre- 
pared for  a  fight.  Our  salvation  is  in  pitching  in," 
he  said,  as  his  quick  eye  took  in  the  whole  situation. 

"That's  my  idea  precisely — and  with  the  sabre," 
answered  Esting. 

Dalton  said  nothing,  but,  with  his  usual  determina- 
tion, had  already  drawn  his  sword,  and  was  loosen- 
ing his  pistols  in  the  saddle  holsters.  The  woods  on 
either  side  of  the  road  where  they  stood  were  open, 
and  admirably  selected  for  the  bold  attack  contem- 


The  Sanctuary.  163 

plated  by  Horton.  In  twenty  seconds  the  band  of 
less  than  one  hundred  brave  men  were  formed  in 
double  line,  with  an  interval  of  twenty  feet  between. 

"Draw  sabres!"  shouted  the  captain;  "charge!" 
and  away  they  thundered  down  the  hill  with  a  loud 
hurrah. 

The  enemy  heard  the  cry  and  saw  the  swiftly-ad- 
vancing line.  Huddled  together  in  the  road,  the 
leading  platoon  of  Confederates  was  broken  and  dis- 
ordered by  the  crowd  pressing  from  behind.  A  few 
dashed  bravely  forward  to  meet  the  onset  of  the 
Yankees,  led  by  Horton,  Dalton,  and  Esting,  but  the 
shock  was  irresistible.  In  the  road,  in  the  ditch,  to 
the  right  and  left,  down  went  the  enemy,  horse  and 
rider.  The  gallant  hundred  swept  around  on  either 
flank  of  the  bewildered  foe,  to  whom  they  appeared 
a  thousand.  There  was  a  wild  hurly-burly ;  the  sa- 
bres rose  and  fell.  "  For  God  and  the  Union !"  was 
the  cry.  In  vain  did  the  confused  enemy  answer 
with  the  revolver;  their  shots  flew  wild;  and  still 
the  sabres  leaped  and  crashed,  their  bloody  blades 
crimson  in  the  luird  light  of  the  sun.  It  was  a  short, 
sharp  struggle,  and  then  the  blinded,  staggering  mass, 
of  men  broke  and  fled  in  dismay. 

"  Follow  them  a  while,  Esting,  until  you  get  them 
into  a  good  run.     Give  them  the  Spencers  now,  but 


104  The   Saxctuary. 

don't  go  too  far,"  said  Horton,  who  watched  the  pur- 
suing party  for  a  moment,  and  then  rode  up  to  where 
Major  Dalton  had  dismounted  from  his  horse. 

"  Have  we  lost  many  men  ?"  asked  the  major,  who 
was  reloading  his  pistols. 

"There  is  one  poor  fellow  killed,  and  several 
slightly  hurt.  But  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
There  is  the  blood  running  out  of  your  sleeve." 

"  It's  nothing  but  a  slight  cut.  I  have  used  the 
arm  since.  There  were  two  of  these  fellows  dashed 
at  me  at  the  same  moment.  One  of  them  was  Ghil- 
son,  an  old  Savannah  acquaintance,  who  had  a  per- 
sonal spite  against  me.  This  is  the  first  time  we 
have  met  during  the  war.  We  recognized  each 
other  at  once,  and,  unless  I  am  mistaken,  he  will  not 
forget  the  meeting,  for  I  answered  his  cut  with  a 
thrust  full  in  quart  which  badly  gashed  his  face." 
And  so  Dalton  had  answered  Ghilson's  challenge  of 
four  years  ago. 


XXV. 

^T^HE  wounded  men  were  at  once  removed  to  tlae 
-^  house  already  spoken  of.  It  proved  to  be  supe- 
*rior  in  every  way  to  the  buildings  of  this  class  usu- 
ally found  upon  plantations.  It  now  seemed  almost 
deserted  by  all  but  the  negroes,  who  welcomed  the 
new-comers  with  ecstatic  exclamations  of  joy. 

"Well,  what  now,  Baxter?"  asked  Horton,  as  his 
orderly  came  hastily  forward  to  meet  him,  with  an 
expression  of  satisfaction  mingled  with  a  shadow  of 
dismay. 

"  I  have  found  that  colored  man  Zimri,  sir." 

''  The  man  who  killed  the  rebel  spy  in  the  moun- 
tains?" 

"  Yes,  captain ;  but  he's  in  a  heap  of  sorrow  now. 
It  'pears  like  as  if  this  was  the  plantation  he  was 
fetched  up  on.  His  mother  lives  here.  When  that 
scrimmage  began,  she  ran  to  see  after  Zimri,  and  a 
stray  shot  hit  her,  and  I  think  she's  gone  up.  They're 
in  the  first  cabin  on  the  right,  there." 


166  The  Sanctuary. 

The  negro  quarters  were,  as  usual,  coarsely  built 
of  logs.  It  was  easy  for  Horton  to  distinguisli  the 
cabin  of  Zimri's  mother  from  the  rest,  for  about  the 
door,-  peering  into  the  windows  and  into  the  cracks 
between  the  logs,  was  a  crowd  of  negroes,  most  of 
them  about  the  middle  age.  The  calamity  which 
had  fallen  upon  Aunt  Fannie  overcame  every  feel- 
ing of  curiosity  common  usually  to  these  people. 

"De  Lord  hab  mercy  on  her  soul!"  murmured  an 
old  negress,  whose  wrinkled  and  haggard  face  and* 
blinking  eyelids  told  the  story  of  her  extreme  age. 
Eesting  her  jaws  upon  the  palms  of  her  hands,  she 
stared  into  vacancy,  muttering  to  herself, 

"Yah,  yah,  de  Lord  teks  car  his  own,  an' Fannie 
is  de  Lord's  own  chile.  More  dan  fifty  years  sin  I 
tuk  her  fro'  her  mudder's  arms.  She  was  a  angel 
den,  an'  she's  bin  a  angel  ebber  sin.  Yaas,"  she 
cried,  in  a  shrill  and  broken  voice,  while  she  stretch- 
ed forth  her  hands,  whose  bent  and  bony  fingers 
trembled  with  the  palsy  of  age.  "  Yaas,  de  Lord  be 
praised,  dere  is  rest  fur  de  weary.  I  see  de  mansions 
ob  bliss  openin'  ter  receibe  her.  She'll  war  a  robe 
ob  white,  an'  she's  gwine  whar  ther'll  be  no  sorrer 
nor  sighin'  any  more." 

The  old  woman's  face,  as  these  words  came  forth 
with  the  impress  of  prophecy,  was  filled  with  a  wild, 


The  Sanctuary.  167 

exultant  look,  as  if,  standing  upon  tlie  verge  of  eter- 
nity, she  saw  visions  of  the  spirit-world.  For  the  in- 
stant her  utterances  hushed  the  groans  and, cries  of 
her  companions,  who  gazed  upon  her  with  supersti- 
tious fear,  while  a  sense  of  awe  took  possession  of 
even  the  two  officers. 

"Clar  de  way!"  "Move  yer  hoofs,  Dinah!" 
"Don  yer  see  der  ossifers  want  to  go  in  dar!"  were 
the  exclamations  from  one  to  another,  as  Horton  and 
Dalton  moved  among  the  crowd  toward  the  door. 
A  strange,  pathetic  spectacle  met  their  gaze.  The 
light  of  the  setting  sun  streamed  through  the  open 
doorway  full  upon  the  figure  of  a  woman  stretched 
upon  a  low  cot  in  the  farther  corner  of  the"  room. 
Facing  them,  and  kneeling  upon  the  floor,  was  a 
gray-haired  negro,  whose  raised  hands  were  clasped 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  Upon  the  edge  of  the  bed 
sat  Zimri.  His  face  was  turned  toward  the  suffering, 
dying  mother,  while  he  held  both  her  hands  in  his. 
In  the  broad  fireplace  lay  a  few  brands  smouldering 
in  the  white  ashes.  The  walls  and  ceilings  were  be- 
grimed with  smoke.  Horton,  who  had  been  study- 
ing every  detail  of  this  picture  of  human  woe,  was 
suddenly  aroused  by  the  voice  of  the  dying  woman. 
The  words  came  faint  and  broken  from  her  lips,  the 
red  blood  bubblinpr  from  her  wound  as  each  breath 


168  The   Sanctuary. 

came  and  went.  She  was  not  conscious  of  what  she 
said,  for,  could  she  have  looked  into  the  face  of  her 
son,  which  was  by  turns  black  with  passion  and  then 
stricken  with  grief,  she  would  have  died  and  left  the 
tale  untold. 

"  Massa  Ealph !  Massa  Ralph !  don't  3'ou  speak 
such  dreadful  words.  Charlotte  is  Zimri's  wife. 
Charlotte,  my  chile,  you  mus'  not  go  dar;  'tis  sinful 
afore  God.  Come  to  me.  Dar!  close  to  my  heart. 
He  dare  not  touch  his  ole  nurse.  Dar,  right  dar!" 
whispered  the  djang,  raving  woman.  For  a  mo- 
ment no  sound  escaped  her  lips,  when,  with  a  bound, 
she  sprang  up,  stretching  out  her  trembling  arms, 
screaming  in  frantic  grief,  "Ralph!  Massa  Ralph! 
for  de  love  ob  Christ,  do  not  take  her  awav.  Char- 
lotte! Charlotte!  you're  my  son's  wife.  Why  go 
away  with  that  wicked  man.  Zimri!  Zimril  my 
son,  5^our  wife,  Charlotte — " 

With  a  cry  of  anguish  Zimri  clasped  his  mother 
in  his  arms,  while  great  sobs  shook  his  strong  frame. 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  is  Zimri  who  speaks  to  you — who 
holds  you  here.  Look  at  me.  Speak  to  me.  Do 
you  not  know  me?     Say  but  a  word !" 

For  a  brief  instant  the  delirium  passed  from  her 
eyes,  and  with  it  came  recognition — a  sickly  smile. 
She  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 


The  Sanctuaey.  169 

Her  bosom  ceased  to  throb,  and  her  arms  slowly  un- 
wound themselves  from  about  Zimri's  neck ;  her  head 
fell  back,  her  eyes  were  fixed,  and  she  was  dead. 

Zimri  buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  nursed  his 
double  grief. 

"  This  is  terrible,"  said  Dalton ;  "  that  man  will 
break  his  heart." 

"I  know  him  well;  his  is  a  nature  that  will  not 
bend,"  answered  Horton,  "and  he  will  die  if  he  is 
not  distracted  from  this  sorrow." 

The  old  negro,  who  had  risen  from  his  knees,  came 
forward. 

"You  is  right,  genl'men,  Zimri  is  a  powerful 
strong  mind,  but  dere  is  relief  in  prayer.  It  is  ter 
de  Lord  he  mus'  look  for  help  in  time  o'  trouble." 
Stepping  to  the  door,  he  spoke  to  the  crowd  of  ne- 
groes, who  did  not  fully  understand  the  cause  of  the 
silence  within.  Lifting  up  his  hands,  while  his  patri- 
archal face  glowed  with  benign  expression,  he  said,* 

*  It  has  been  said  that  the  exhibition  by  the  negroes  of  intense 
feeling  on  religious  subjects  was  an  expression  of  one  form  of  obe- 
dience to  their  masters.  While  I  have  no  doubt  but  what  the  super- 
stitions of  the  blacks  was  an  element  always  fostered  and  directed 
for  the  mental  as  well  as  physical  enslavement  of  these  people,  yet 
the  master  "builded  better  than  he  knew,"  for  the  childx'en  of  the 
slaves  are  taught  by  their  parents  to  pray  and  sing  as  soon  as  they 
can  talk,  and  from  that  time  there  never  comes  a  moment  when 
they  do  not  go  to  God  with  all  their  grief  and  woes,  and  with  a  sub- 

TI 


170  The  Sanctuary. 

"  Brederen  and  sisters,  de  Lord  is  in  dis  house.  He 
has  come  down  and  taken  Fannie.  Dere,  hush  now ; 
do  not  weep,  nor  cry  out,  for  sister  Fannie  is  gone 
whar  dere  is  no  weepin'  nor  sorrow.  Her  name  is 
written  in  de  Lamb's  book  ob  hfe.  Let  us  pray  dat, 
wid  sister  Fannie,  we  may  stan'  wid  de  white  robes 
afore  de  great  white  trone." 

Then  the  old  preacher  knelt  down,  lifting  up  his 
face  in  the  fading  twilight,  and  poured  forth  his  soul 
in  fervent  prayer  to  that  God  of  infinite  love  and 
pity  who  comes  very  near  to  his  weak  and  suffer- 
ing children.  In  the  presence  of  death  there  is  no 
distinction  of  rank  or  race,  and  Dalton  and  Hor- 
ton  reverently  bowed  their  heads  before  the  sub- 
lime pathos  of  that  simple-hearted  old  man  as  he 
prayed — 

"  0  Lord  Almighty !  dy  chast'ning  han'  is  come 
right  down  here  an'  took  away  sister  Fannie.  Dar 
is  her  poor  bleedin'  body,  but  de  soul  is  gone  far 
away  among  de  angels,  whar  dere  is  chantin'  an' 
singin'  forebber  an'  ebber  afore  de  great  white  trone. 

lime  faith  that  he  is  no  "respecter  of  persons."  The  simple  tenets 
of  the  Methodist  Church  have  brought  the  Christian  religion  within 
the  comprehension  of  the  most  ignorant  of  these  people ;  and  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  apostasy  of  the  churches  of  whites  in  the 
South  during  the  rebellion,  certain  it  is  that  the  religion  of  Christ 
was  kept  pure  in  the  hovels  of  the  despised  slaves. 


The  Sanctuary.  171 

De  Lord  Jesus  knows  his  flock,  an'  sister  Fannie  is 
dar  in  de  mansions  ob  de  blessed  angels.  0  Lord 
Jesus,  sanctify  us  by  dis  dispensation.  Come  berry 
near  us,  right  ter  our  hearts,  so  dat  when  de  angels 
come  fur  us  we  shall  be  ready  widout  a  complaint. 
Dar  is  Zimri,  he's  bin  a  good  son  ter  his  mudder. 
Gib  him,  0  Lord,  de  peace  of  Christ.  Make  his 
heart  clean,  so  dat  he'll  join  her  above,  whar  we  all 
shall  sing  an'  praise  de  Lord  forebber  and  ebber. 
Amen." 

Before  the  preacher  had  finished  this  simple  peti- 
tion, the  men  and  women  were  weeping  and  crying 
out,  ''Yes,  Lord!"  "We's  waitin'  fur  de  comin'  ob 
Christ!"  "Hallelujah!"  and  other  fervent  exclama- 
tions. As  the  "Amen"  left  the  old  man's  lips,  with 
one  accord  they  broke  forth  into  a  sad  chant,  sung 
in  that  mournful  minor  key  which  seems  to  have 
grown  out  of  their  life  of  hopeless  servitude.*    A 

*  While  the  negroes  in  their  songs  are  not  governed  by  any  strict 
rules  of  metre,  they  always  manage,  no  matter  how  many  words 
they  may  crowd  into  a  line,  to .  keep  perfect  time.  In  the  life  of 
freedom  which  opens  before  the  blacks  of  the  South,  these  sad  songs, 
which  have  expressed  to  me  more  than  any  other  feeling  an  utter 
sense  of  hopelessness  on  this  side  of  the  grave,  will  be  lost.  Both 
the  words  and  the  peculiar  music  belong  to  the  slave-life,  and  it  will 
surely  give  place  to  a  more  cheerful  music,  and  more  significant  of 
the  joyous,  contented  characteristics  of  the  negro  nature.  Will  not 
some  competent  hand  record  these  singular  melodies  for  the  benefit 
of  history  ? 


172  The  Sanctuary. 

single  voice  first  took  up  the  song,  but  old  and  young 
joined  in  the  refrain  in  full  chorus : 

"  Dere's  room  enough  in  heaben,  for  all  de  angels  say 

Dere's  room  enough. 
My  God  says  dere's  room  enough , 

Sinner,  don't  stay  away — 

Don't  stay  away. 
My  Lord  says  dere's  room  enough — 

Don't  stay  away." 

*'Way  ober  in  de  Promised  Land,  in  de  Promised  Land, 
In  de  Promised  Land. 
JMy  Lord  calls  forth,  and  I  mus'  go  to  meet  him 
In  de  Promised  Land, 
In  de  Promised  Land. 
My  chil'n  in  de  Promised  Land ;  my  mudder  in  de  Promised 
Land, 

In  de  Promised  Land." 

Hardly  had  the  chorus  of  this  psalm  died  away 
when  another  voice  broke  forth  in  a  shorter,  more 
cheerful  metre — 

*'  Gwiue  on  de  island,  oh  dica — 

Gwine  on  de  island,  oh  dica — 
Gwine  on  de  island,  way  on  de  odder  shore. 

Oh,  gwine  dica — 

Oh,  gwine  dica — 
Oh,  gwine  dica,  way  on  de  odder  shore." 

By  this  time  the  crowd  of  negroes  had  reached  a 
pitch  of  excitement  which  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
scribe, and  which  can  not  be  understood  except  by 
those  who  have  witnessed  these  sino-ular  exaltations. 


The  Sanctuary.  173 

The  singing  was  interspersed  by  shouts  of  "  Hallelu- 
jah!" "Glory!"  "Glory  to  God!"  The  women  seem- 
ed the  most  impressed,  some  springing  into  the  air, 
others  twisting  about  upon  the  ground ;  both  women 
and  men  were  rocking  their  bodies  and  swaying 
about.     All  at  once  they  broke  forth  in  one  voice— 

"Jubilate!  jubilate! 
The  world  calls  rae  Swonga. 

O  Lord !  Swonga ; 
What  makes  you  tink  of  Swonga. 
For  my  Lord  Jesus,  whar  you  tink  I  foun'  him — 

Down  in  de  lonesome  valley. 
How  you  tink  I  foun'  him ;  I  work  my  knee-bone  bending 
Way  down  in  de  lonesome  valley. 
Jubilate!  jubilate!" 

The  plaintive  melody  ended  as  suddenly  as  it  be- 
gan, and  then  Horton  advanced  to  the  bedside,  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  Zimri's  shoulder, 

"  Zimri,  my  friend." 

The  son  of  the  slave  woman  turned  his  head  at  the 
kind  words  so  gently  uttered,  and  recognized  Captain 
Horton. 

"  I  did  not  think  to  meet  you  again  so  soon,  and 
in  this  way.  Oh,  sir,  she  was  all  that  was  left  me  on 
earth,  except—"  and  his  voice  faltered—"  Charlotte. 
My  poor,  loving  mother!"  and  he  turned  once  more 
toward  the  humble  cot. 

"  Zimri,  you  must  leave  her  for  the  present.    This 


ITi  The  Sanctuary. 

terrible  misfortune  has  been  caused  by  our  presence 
here.  But  for  this  fight  she  would  have  been  alive 
and  well.  In  a  degree  I  feel  responsible  for  the  dis- 
aster." 

''It  is  not  for  you  to  censure  yourself  God  has 
chosen  his  own  time  and  way.  Perhaps  she  had  bet- 
ter not  have  lived  longer.  But  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
lost  my  last  and  only  friend." 

Horton  led  Zimri  away  from  the  cabin,  while  Dal- 
ton,  who  had  witnessed  this  sad  tragedy  with  a  heart 
of  symjDathy,  remained  to  give  directions  for  the 
burial  of  the  body. 

"We  came  here  only  this  morning,"  said  Zimri,  in 
reply  to  Horton's  queries.  "After  I  left  you  in  the 
mountains  of  Alabama,  I  found  General  Ralph.  I 
had  but  a  few  words  with  my  wife  Charlotte  when 
the  general  sent  me  away  with.  Major  Ghilson.  I 
have  not  seen  either  Charlotte  or  the  general  since. 
I  have  tried  to  find  Charlotte,  but  the  commands 
have  been  widely  separated.  I  learn  that  both  of 
them  were  here  a  few  days  ago.  The  dying  words 
of  my  mother  fill  me  wdth  alarm." 

"Zimri,  you  must  take  my  friendly  advice,  and 
give  up  this  pursuit.  I  am  sure  nothing  good  will 
come  of  it."  .  • 

"Captain  Horton,  you  are  kinder  to  me  than  I  de- 


The   Sanctuary.  175 

serve,  but  I  can  not  give  up  Charlotte  to  the  power 
of  that  devil.  I  shall  follow  them  as  soon  as  my 
poor  mother  is  in  her  grave." 

Horton  no  longer  attempted  to  dissuade  Zimri 
from  his  purpose.  There  was  a  vindictive  glare  in 
the  man's  eye,  and  a  firm  setting  of  the  lips,  which 
proclaimed  his  determination  to  satisfy  his  doubts. 

It  was  a  weird  sight  Fannie's  burial.  It  was  at 
night,  and  the  pitch-pine  torches  flaming  in  the  wind 
threw  a  sombre  light  upon  the  group  of  negroes 
gathered  about  the  grave. 

The  old  preacher  uttered  a  few  words  over  the 
cofiln  now  lowered  into  the  grave.  The  earth  soon 
covered  it  from  view,  and  then,  amid  the  prayers  and 
blessings  of  the  negroes  who  flocked  around  him, 
Zimri,  with  the  officers,  mounted  their  horses  and 
filed  down  the  avenue  out  into  the  road. 

Before  the  morning  sun  had  risen,  the  party  of 
Union  soldiers  had  reached  the  head-quarters  of  their 
army,  and  Zimri,  within  the  rebel  lines,  held  Char- 
lotte trembling  in  his  arms. 


XXYI. 


TTIS  brother,  General  'Ralph.  Buford,  was  not  at 
-^^  the  head-quarters  of  his  brigade  when  Zimri 
arrived  there.  He  had  been  called  suddenly  to 
Branchville  to  consult  with  Beauregard  and  other 
Confederate  officers.  Sherman's  troops  appeared  at 
so  many  places  at  the  same  moment  that  his  real 
movement  was  undefined.  Meanwhile  his  troops 
had  been  thrown  across  the  line  of  the  railroad,  and 
then  across  the  Edisto  Eiver,  and  General  Buford 
was  cut  off  from  his  command. 

Three  days  of  happy  forgetfulness  were  these  to 
Zimri.  Saddened  and  subdued  by  his  mother's  death, 
he  was  only  too  content  to  rest  in  the  love  of  Char- 
lotte, gazing  into  her  golden-brown  eyes,  and  listen- 
ing to  her  words  of  tenderness.  Zimri  was  not  sus- 
picious by  nature.  His  affection  for  his  wife  was  the 
ruling,  absorbing  passion  of  his  life ;  and  when  she 
met  him  with  a  cry  of  gladness,  and  wound  her  arms 


^     -  u  J 


_     P-'  ^_ 


/iMKt    ^NU  cavuLorTi- 


The   Sanctuary.  179 

about  his  neck,  and  murmured  her  welcome  into  his 
willing  ear  so  lovingly,  all  past  suffering  and  agoniz- 
ing doubt  fled  both  from  thought  and  memory. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  capture  of  Columbia  that 
they  sat  together  upon  the  bank  of  the.  Congaree, 
near  the  city.  They  were  heedless  of  the  stir  and 
alarm  which  agitated  the  citizens.  They  regarded 
not  the  messengers  dashing  to  and  fro  on  errands  of 
hate  and  fear.  The  boom  of  the  distant  cannon  did 
not  disturb  their  happy  dream. 

Charlotte  was  little  changed  from  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  sun  whom  we  saw  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Alabama  a  few  months  ago.  Exposure  to 
the  open  air  had  tinged  her  cheek  with  a  richer  col- 
or, but  the  same  dark  tresses  waved  gracefully  away 
from  her  fair  forehead.  Her  eyes  had  not  lost  their 
liquid  purity ;  her  form  had  the  same  charming  lan- 
guor in  repose  as  of  old,  and  the  same  beautiful  grace 
in  motion. 

"After  to-morrow,  Charlotte,  we  shall  get  away 
from  this  fettered  life.  Within  the  Union  lines  we 
shall  find  freedom  and  friends,  and  such  a  home  as 
the  slave  never  knows  here.  I  have  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  pay  Mrs.  Buford,  who  is  at  Winnsboro',  and 
may  need  assistance.  We  will  go  there,  and  then 
take  the  first  chance  of  escape." 


180  The  Sanctuary. 

"  Let  us  not  wait  till  to-morrow,"  pleaded  bis  wife, 
as  she  drew  closer  to  him.  "  Oh,  Zimri,  every  mo- 
ment we  stay  here  is  dangerous.  Master  Ralph  may 
return  any  moment,  and  then — "  Her  golden  eyes 
were  veiled  by  their  long  lashes,  and  she  hesitated. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,  my  darling :  '  Gen- 
eral Ralph  will  not  let  us  remain  together.'  But  he 
shall  not  separate  us  again — he  dare  not !  I  would 
be  glad  never  to  meet  him,  but  he  can't  protect  Mrs. 
Buford  after  the  Confederate  army  has  passed  her, 
and  I  can.  We  must  not  forget,  Charlotte,  that  there 
are  years  of  kind  words  and  deeds  which  we  both 
owe  to  her.  Has  she  not  taught  you  to  read  and  to 
write,  adding  knowledge  to  the  graces  of  my  beau- 
tiful Charlotte?"  and  Zimri  kissed  her  with  fondness. 

"Dear  Zimri,  I  am  not  ungrateful — indeed  I  am 
not — but  I  am  afraid.  I  don't  dare  think  of  going 
there." 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  Zimri,  in  a  tone 
which  drove  the  color  from  his  wife's  cheek.  "If  it 
comes  to  the  worst,  I  can  protect  you  too ;  if  not  by 
an  appeal  to  reason,  there  is  still  a  last  resort  left, 
even  for  slaves." 

"When  the  husband  and  wife  returned  to  head- 
quarters they  found  the  camp  in  commotion.  Bu- 
ford had  returned,  but  at  imminent  risk  of  his  life. 


TnE  Sanctuary.  181 

His  small  party  had  been  attacked,  and  all  but  him- 
self and  two  men  had  either  been  killed  or  captured. 
In  addition  to  this,  it  was  ascertained  that  the  enemy 
had  crossed  the  river  above  Columbia,  and  were 
marching  rapidly  upon  the  city. 

When  the  general's  eyes  Jell  upon  Zimri,  there 
passed  over  his  face  an  expression  of  hate  which 
might  seem  to  have  been  borrowed  from  the  under 
world.  Zimri  looked  into  his  brother's  face  unflinch- 
ingly. Each  was  ready  to  give  expression  to  the 
emotions  which  swayed  him,  but  it  was  no  time  now 
for  the  encounter.  There  were  other  things  which 
could  not  be  postponed  that  imperatively  called  Bu- 
ford's  attention  in  another  direction.  There  was  a 
large  army  sweeping  around  him,  and  escape  was 
only  possible  on  the  instant.  As  the  general  moved 
away,  Zimri  plunged  into  the  woods,  following  the 
direction  taken  by  the  wagons  an  hour  before. 


XXYII. 

A  MOST  unfortunate  incident  connected  with  the 
^^  capture  of  Columbia  was  the  terrible  conflagra- 
tion occasioned  by  the  reckless  conduct  of  the  de- 
fenders in  setting  fire  to  the  thousand  bales  of  cotton 
which  had  been  placed  in  the  streets  for  that  pur- 
pose. It  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  that  morning,  after 
the  fire,  thousands  of  women  and  children,  deprived 
of  food  and  shelter,  wandering  among  "the  ruins  of 
once  happy  homes.  There  was  fear  and  despair  in 
the  hearts  of  these  people,  who  had  reviled  the  gov- 
ernment of  their  fathers,  who  had  cursed  with  the 
bitterness  of  hate  these  Northerners,  conquerors  now. 
This  was  a  mournful  spectacle;  but  on  this  same 
memorable  morning  Columbia  presented  a  sight 
which  more  than  compensated  for  this  dark  picture 
of  suffering,  although  it  also  suggested  many  painful 
thoughts  by  way  of  retrospect.  It  was  the  vision 
of  five  hundred  rescued  prisoners,  whose  eyes  had 
grown  feeble  staring  at  blank  prison  walls,  but  were 


The  Sanctuary.  188 

now  restored  to  strength  at  siglit  of  the  old  flag,  the 
symbol  to  them  of  freedom  and  home.  With  prayer- 
ful, unspeakable  joy,  they  fell  upon  their  knees  and 
wept.  Oh !  you  who  have  ever  had  the  freedom  of 
the  open  air,  you  can  not  comprehend  the  joy  of  re- 
lease from  a  rebel  prison.  The  victims  who  survived 
this  prison-life  shrink  from  its  memories.  ISTo  tongue, 
may  describe  its  horrors,  and  only  in  "  Fidelio,"  that 
masterpiece  of  Beethoven,  has  it  found  expression 
even  in  the  mournful  strains  of  music. 

Among  the  crowd  of  escaped  prisoners  that  throng- 
ed the  quarters  of  the  commanding  general  there 
came,  under  the  charge  of  the  guard,  a  wretched, 
sickly -looking  man,  with  lack-lustre  eyes,  shoeless 
and  ragged.  He  had  that  day  come  within  the 
Union  lines,  and  had  been  arrested  as  one  of  the 
rebel  army.  He  had  a  pitiful  tale  to  tell^-the  old 
story  of  conscription  and  of  despotic  infliction  of  suf- 
fering. It  was  a  common  story,  but  his  whole  ap- 
pearance testified  to  its  truthfulness.  This  man  was 
received  cautiously,  but  was  kindly  treated.  If  those 
who  had  been  confined  in  rebel  prisons  had  reason 
to  rejoice  over  their  release,  certainly  he  had  equal 
reason,  for  he  had  that  day  escaped  not  only  from  a 
forced  service,  but  from  persecution  that  knew  no 
pity,  and  had  no  cause  but  a  relentless  hate. 


XXYIII. 

A  S  Zimri  pressed  on  in  the  effort  to  find  General 
-^-^  Buford's  head  -  quarters  train,  he  found  the 
woods,  the  roads,  and  the  by- ways  filled  with  flying 
men.  These,  in  their  panic  of  fear,  in  their  eagerness 
to  rush  out  of  sight  and  sound  of  the  death  dealing 
guns  of  the  enemy,  threw  away  their  arms,  and  even 
their  clothing.  They  lost  all  sense  of  place  and  di- 
rection. Many  fled  into  the  Union  lines  unawares ; 
others  dropped  fainting  with  terror  and  exhaustion 
upon  the  roadside,  in  the  swamp,  and  in  the  forest. 
It  was  a  confused  mass  of  men,  material,  and  animals 
impelled  by  an  instinct  of  flight  northward.  The 
winter  wind,  cold  and  cheerless,  added  to  their  mis- 
ery, and  during  their  temporary  halts,  as  they  sur- 
rounded their  dreary  camp-fires,  they  elbowed  aside 
their  commanding  ofl&cers,  and  seemed  regardless  of 
all  military  discipline  and  the  usual  proprieties  of 
the  service. 


The  Sanctuary.  185 

The  place  where  Buford's  men  halted  for  the  night 
was  a  ruined  plantation.  Broken,  half-burned  fences, 
tall  chimneys  blackened  with  smoke,  a  heap  of  brick, 
with  here  and  there  a  window-cap  or  door-sill,  told 
where  a  house  had  stood  in  happier  times.  A  few 
negro  huts  could  be  seen  crowded  with  women  and 
children. 

Zimri  had  succeeded  in  his  search.  Himself  un- 
recognized, he  now  became  witness  to  a  most  piti- 
ful, agonizing  scene.  From  his  concealment  he  saw 
General  Buford  approach  a  building  used  for  the 
storage  of  cotton,  which  he  had  appropriated  for  the 
night.  He  saw  him  turn  to  the  group  near  by  be- 
fore he  entered,  and,  after  a  brusque  "Good-night," 
call  for  Charlotte.  He  saw  her  hesitate,  and  then,  at 
Buford's  second  and  more  impatient  call,  he  saw  her 
move  in  obedience  to  his  command.  He  heard  the 
group  left  behind  utter  their  jests,  careless  and  coarse, 
occasioned  by  this  circumstance. 

He  was  on  fire  with  rage.  Madly  he  wandered 
through  the  woods  during  the  cheerless  night,  heed- 
ing not  the  biting  blasts  of  the  north  wind.  He  cried 
out  savagely  for  revenge — cried  out  against  this  cow- 
ardly brother,  against  his  treacherous  wife.  The 
white  pines  looked  sadly  down  upon  him,  but  gave 
no  answer  to  his  moans. 


186  The  Sanctuary. 

Midnight  found  liim  back  again  at  tlie  camp-fire 
where  lay  tlie  sleeping  group,  unconscious  of  his 
presence  —  back  again  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
dreadful  reality,  nameless  and  inexplicable. 

The  gray  morning  at  length  breaks  upon  a  dismal 
sight.  There  is  just  light  enough  to  see  the  yard, 
deserted  by  the  band  encamped  there  last  night. 
One  by  one,  with  that  supreme  selfishness  which  in 
a  panic  makes  every  man  clutch  at  the  remotest 
chance  offered  him  for  life,  they  have  all  stolen 
away.  In  the  distance  is  heard  the  sullen  boom  of 
the  enemy's  artillery,  indicating  a  relentless  pursuit 
A  horseman  dashes  wildly  by.  He  looks  neither  to 
the  right  nor  to  the  left,  riding  onward,  onward, 
thinking  only  of  flight ;  and  then  all  is  desolate  and 
still,  as  if  the  Angel  of  Death  hovered  about  the 
place. 

Suddenly  there  shoots  up  into  the  leaden  sky  a 
bright  light,  which  reveals  a  terrible  disaster.  In  an 
instant  the  log  house  in  which  Buford  has  made  his' 
quarters  is  one  sheet  of  roaring  flame.  The  unpack- 
ed cotton,  the  pitch-pine  logs  burn  with  a  rapidity 
rivaling  the  explosion  of  powder.  A  column  of 
black  smoke  rises  above  a  furnace  of  living  fire. 
Screams  of  agony,  smothered  cries  of  pain,  rage,  and 
despair,  pierce  through  the  flames.     There  is  no  help, 


"And  Zimri,  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  withered  pine  by  the  roadside,  looks 


The  Sanctuary.  189 

no  hope — there  is  a  crash  of  falling  timbers — there 
rises  and  flies  as  high  as  heaven  an  ink-black  cloud 
of  smoke  and  whirling  brands,  and  then  there  is  a 
lull— a  dreadful  silence.  And  Zimri,  leaning  against 
the  trunk  of  a  withered  pine  by  the  roadside,  looks 
on.  His  arms  are  folded,  and  his  face  wears  an  ex- 
pression of  vindictiveness  and  of  triumph.  He  looks 
like  the  incarnation  of  awful  retribution  and  revenge ; 
and  the  victims — these  are  Charlotte  and — 

But  why  does  Zimri  spring  into  the  road  with  the 
cry  and  bound  of  an  angry  tiger  robbed  of  his  prey? 
In  the  dim,  shadowy  border  of  the  wood  he  sees  the 
figure  of  a  man  on  horseback  steal  swiftly  away  from 
the  smouldering  ruins.  The  steed  has  neither  bridle 
nor  saddle ;  its  rider  is  clothed  in  white,  his  long 
black  hair  floating  backward  in  the  wind.  The  pale 
face  of  the  horseman  is  turned  for  a  moment  toward 
Zimri,  glaring  with  hate  and  convulsed  with  fear. 
His  arm  is  raised  with  a  wild  and  threatening  ges- 
ture, and  the  vision  disappears. 


XXIX. 

XT  was  one  of  those  bright  and  beautiful  mornings 
-^  which  come  in  South  Carolina  in  January,  when 
Nature,  rising  from  its  brief  rest,  puts  forth  a  first 
effort  of  conscious  power.  The  sun  penetrated  the 
mists  and  clouds,  and  shone  out  in  semi-tropical 
splendor.  The  birds  flocked  in  troops,  and,  flitting 
through  the  air,  or  gathering  in  the  foliage,  warbled 
and  sung  in  joyous  harmony.  All  nature  was  glad, 
singing  with  its  countless  tongues  a  hymn  of  happi- 
ness, and  of  a  peace  which  seemed  as  if  it  might  have 
been  eternal. 

But  war,  terrible,  cruel  war,  was  in  the  land.  The 
Grand  Army  of  the  Union  had  left  Columbia  behind 
them,  and  was  marching  over  the  roads,  spreading 
out  through  the  pine  forests,  stretching  across  the 
tilled  fields,  trampling  upon  the  beautiful  gardens, 
and  leaving  fire  and  destruction  in  its  track.  In 
order  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  enemy  from  the 
true  point  of  attack,  and  the  better  to  obtain  food 


The  Sanctuary.  191 

and  forage  for  man  and  beast,  the  army  had  been  di- 
vided. The  two  wings  marched  upon  parallel  roads, 
from  ten  to  fifteen  miles  apart,  with  orders  to  concen- 
trate upon  Winnsboro'  on  the  morning  of  the  day  in 
which  this  chapter  opens. 

By  some  of  those  accidents  inseparable  from  the 
movements  of  large  bodies  of  armed  men  with  their 
cumbrous  trains — the  destruction  of  bridges,  or  im- 
perfect roads — the  column  in  which  Horton  was 
marching  was  delayed  beyond  the  hour  of  conjunc- 
tion. 

Wearied  with  the  frequent  halts,  tired  of  watching 
the  patient  mules  straining  to  drag  their  heavy  loads 
through  the  swamps  and  sloughs,  surfeited  even  with 
the  sports  of  foraging  parties  in  chase  of  pigs  and 
chickens,  Horton,  Leveridge,  and  Dalton  started  for 
Winnsboro',  confident  that  they  would  find  the  other 
wing  of  the  army  in  occupation  of  the  city.  As  they 
cantered  along  the  smooth  road,  they  noticed  the  de- 
serted appearance  of  the  farm-houses.  The  rumor 
of  the  approaching  army  had  preceded  them,  and 
the  frightened  people  had  fled.  As  they  neared  the 
town,  evidences  of  the  close  proximity  of  the  other 
wing  appeared.  Already  had  the  foraging  parties 
visited  the  inhabitants.  Weeping  women  screamed 
to  the  officers  from  their  doorways,  and  begged  for 


192  The  Sanctuaky. 

a  guard.  The  "  bummers"  had  entered  their  house, 
and  had  left,  what  they  left  at  all,  in  indescribable 
confusion. 

Two  miles  from  the  town  they  saw  a  long  column 
of  troops  marching  on  a  hill-side  road,  their  flags  fly- 
ing, their  bayonets  gleaming  in  the  sunlight,  and 
now  and  then,  as  the  light  breeze  stirred  the  leaves, 
they  caught  the  strains  of  far-off  martial  music.  ''  A 
race  for  the  town !"  was  the  cry,  and  with  spur  and 
whip  they  bounded  forward,  and  a  few  more  mo- 
ments found  them  in  the  centre  of  the  public  square 
of  the  city. 

What  splendid  confusion !  What  magnificent  or- 
der was  there  in  those  streets,  crowded  with  officers 
and  men !  The  column  of  troops  was  marching  in 
grand  array  through  the  city  to  the  stirring  music 
of  several  bands.  Wagons  were  backed  up  to  ware- 
house doors  to  receive  their  loads  of  hay  and  grain ; 
fine  coaches,  drawn  by  motley-dressed  negroes  fresh 
from  slave-life,  were  driving  through  the  streets  load- 
ed with  poultry,  hams,  and  other  spoils  of  war ;  offi- 
cers and  men  were  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  or 
standing  idly  by  watching  the  parade,  the  crowd,  the 
carnival;  and  yet  others  were  engaged  in  extin- 
guishing the  flames  which  w^ere  in  progress  when 
the  troops  first  entered  the  town. 


The  Sanctuary.  193 

As  Horton  gazed  upon  this  exciting  spectacle,  he 
remembered  the  history  of  this  most  ancient,  most 
aristocratic  of  all  the  Southern  cities.  What  South 
Carolinians  claim  of  superiority  for  South  Carolina 
over  her  sister  states,  the  people  of  this  ancient  burg 
demanded  for  Winnsboro'  over  the  claims  of  all  other 
South  Carolinians.  The  hereditary  claims  of  the 
house  of  Hapsburg  might  be  questioned ;  a  parvenue 
may  possibly  be  admitted  into  the  sacred  Quartier 
St.  Germain  ;  a  bar  sinister  might  be  traced  upon  the 
escutcheon  of  a  Eussell  or  Westminster;  but  to  ques- 
tion the  natural  right  of  a  Winnsburgian  to  rule 
over  all  his  fellow-creatures,  white  and  black,  was  a 
crime  never  committed  within  the  memory  of  man. 

By  to  them  a  sort  of  natural  consequence,  states- 
men who  had  led  in  the  affairs  of  the  nation  were 
born  and  lived  there.  The  onward  car  of  Progress 
had  never  passed  through  Winnsboro'.  The  people 
believed  as  their  fathers  did  before  them — believed 
in  property  in  man ;  considered  secession  not  rebel- 
lion, but  a  simple  assertion  of  their  rights ;  they  be- 
lieved, too,  in  their  safety  and  security  from  the 
shocks  of  war ;  no  serpent  concealed  in  the  depths 
of  the  jungle  felt  more  secure  than  they.  But  one 
fine  morning  the  people  of  Winnsboro'  awoke  and 
found  themselves  astonished.     It  could  not  be,  but 


19i  The  Sanctuary. 

it  was,  and  tbeir  consternation,  despair,  fear,  and 
rage  may  be  imagined  on  this  bright  morning  m  the 
beginning  of  the  3' ear  1865. 

The  party  of  Union  officers  were  soon  separated 
from  each  other — Leveridge  to  search  for  a  camping- 
ground  for  the  advancing  column,  Dalton  to  give  di- 
rections for  the  disposition  of  a  quantity  of  arms  and 
ammunition  found  in  the  town.  Horton  did  not 
move  from  the  position  where  he  had  been  watching 
the  hurly-burly  of  the  troops,  and  the  grand  array 
of  the  column  as  it  marched  along.  lie  had  fallen 
into  one  of  his  reveries,  soliloquizing,  as  was '  his 
habit,  upon  the  chances  and  mischances  of  war,  when 
he  felt  a  light  touch  upon  his  arm.  Looking  down, 
he  saw  standing  by  the  head  of  his  horse  the  colored 
man  Zimri.  At  the  first  glance  Horton  saw  that 
some  terrible  event  had  happened  to  this  man,  in 
whose  history  he  had  become  so  much  interested. 

He  was  not  the  active  scout  whose  keen  eye,  firm 
step,  and  manly  bearing  had  so  deeply  impressed  the 
captain  during  the  exciting  adventure  with  the  rebel 
spy,  nor  yet  did  he  have  the  chastened  but  earnest 
face  which  he  had  seen  a  few  days  before.  In  the 
midst  of  the  stately  movement  before  them,  among 
this  crowd  of  vigorous  live  men,  he  seemed  like  one 
of  those  lofty  pines  in  the  mighty  growth  of  the  sa- 


The  Sanctuary.  195 

vannas  which  yet  rears  its  head  cloudward,-but 
^\hose  trunk  nas  been  seared  and  scarred  with  a 
thunderbolt.  The  light  of  hope  was  quenched  in 
his  eye;  his  lips  were  pale;  his  cheeks  colorless. 
He  did  not  look  Horton  full  in  the  face,  as  was  his 
habit;  there  was  an  uncertain  movement  of  the  bod}^, 
such  as  palsied  men  have.  There  seemed  to  have  set- 
tled down  upon  the  soul  of  this  man  an  unutterable, 
incurable  woe.  He  had  that  expression  which  Dore 
has  given  to  his  Wandering  Jew.  By  an  inevitable 
law,  the  internal  combat  of  the  soul  had  imprinted 
itself  upon  his  face  and  form.  There  was  something 
of  the  remorse  which  follows  crime  when  good  men 
have  committed  crime,  but  that  was  overshadowed 
by  an  expression  of  utter  hopelessness. 

Zimri  had  seen  the  expression  of  horror  reflected 
in  Hortou's  face,  and  he  anticipated  his  inquiry— 

"  I  can  not  answer  your  question  here  and  now,  if 
ever.  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  Please  go  and 
see  Mrs.  Buford,  the  wife  of — "  Zimri  checked  him- 
self a  moment — '^  General  Ealph.  Mrs.  Buford  was 
very  kind  to  me  and  mine  in  the  old  days.  She  is 
frightened  for  her  personal  safety,  and  wished  me  to 
send  her  a  Union  officer.  She  lives  in  that  house 
yonder,  sir,"  and  Zimri  pointed  to  a  building  which 
had.  just  been  saved  from  burning  by  the  efforts  of 
the  soldiers. 


196  The  Sanctuary. 

'^I  will  go  there  at  once,"  replied  Horton.  "Mean- 
while you  must  accompany  Baxter  to  nead-quarters ; 
you  are  unwell,  and  must  be  provided  for." 

"  Thank  you,  captain,"  said  Zimri.  "  Indeed,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  go  any  w^here  for  rest." 

In  a  few  moments  Horton  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Ealph  Buford.  To  explain  how  this 
lady,  of  a  refined  and  sensitive  nature,  came  to  be  the 
wife  of  General  Ealph,  would  open  up  a  feature  in 
the  social  life  of  the  South  which  has  never  yet  had 
its  writer,  and  which  it  is  not  within  the  province  of 
this  story  to  record.  Only  so  much  may  be  told  of 
her  in  these  pages  as  will  serve  to  weld  a  link  in  the 
chain  of  events  which  are  now  hurrying  rapidly  to 
an  end.  She  is  but  one  of  the  half-lights  in  the  pic- 
ture, an  unwilling  prophet  in  a  weird  tragedy. 


XXX. 

"l^/TES.  BUFOKD  was  reared  in  tlie  midst  of  opu- 
■^-^  lence  rare  even  among  tlie  wealthy  "gentry" 
of  the  South.  From  her  birth  she  had  never  known 
a  want  iingratified  nor  a  wish  denied.  She  had 
passed  the  later  years  of  girlhood  in  that  world  of 
art  which  greets  the  cultivated  traveler  every  where 
in  Europe.  In  the  da3^s  before  the  war  she  was  a 
frequent  visitor  and  marked  favorite  in  the  best  soci- 
ety of  the  North ;  and  when  public  affairs  led  her 
father  to  sojourn  in  Washington,  she  became  the  cen- 
tre of  a  select  circle  of  those  who,  even  in  that  city 
of  ambitious  distinctions  and  distractions,  seek  the 
soothing  rdief  of  a  refined  and  spiritual  life. 

When  Horton  first  saw  her,  an  unwonted  excite- 
ment had  imbued  her  pale  cheek  with  a  delicious 
rose-tint ;  her  pure  gray  eyes  beamed  with  unnatural 
fire ;  while  the  course  of  the  blood  could  be  distinct- 


198  The  Sanctuary. 

ly  traced  througli  the  veins  beneath  a  skin  whose 
transparency  was  almost  painful  to  witness. 

Horton  at  once  assured  her  of  safety  and  protec- 
tion, and  he  would  gladly  have  ended  the  interview 
at  that  point,  for  to  a  soldier  of  heart  and  sentiment 
there  can  be  no  experience  so  painful  as  to  listen  to 
the  complaints  and  angry  protestations  of  those  who 
are  the  helpless  victims  of  the  rigors  of  war.  Like 
most  women  of  the  South  when  discussing  the  war, 
Mrs.  Buford  would  not  listen  to  argument  nor  rea- 
son. With  unrestrained  impetuosit}',  she  gave  free 
scope  to  her  enthusiasm  and  her  honest  but  ungov- 
ernable impulses. 

"You  would  make  us  slaves,  sir,  to  your  vulgar 
ISTorthern  democracy.  You  will  not  succeed  in 
crushing  out  the  spirit  of  independence  of  the  South 
Carolinian,  although  you  may  trample  upon  our 
fields  and  burn  our  cities." 

"Your  house,  madam,"  answered  Horton,  "was 
saved  from  destruction  this  morning  by  the  efforts 
of  our  soldiers,  but  we  will  let  all  that  pass.  The 
Union  Army  proclaims  liberty ;  they  do  not  destroy 
it.     We  simply  demand  allegiance." 

"And  that  we  will  never  own,"  she  replied,  and 
her  delicate  hands  were  pressed  convulsively  to  her 
heart,  in  the  intensity  of  her  emotion,  as  she  contin- 


The  Sanctuary.  199 

lied,  ''We  arc  fighting  for  a  holy  cause;  we  will 
struggle  and  die  for  it,  if  need  be,  and  God  shall  bo 
our  judge." 

"  Your  husband  is  an  officer  in  the  rebel  army  ?" 

Hesitating  slightly,  she  answered  "Yes." 

"  He  is  a  general  in  the  cavalry  corps,  is  he  not?" 

"Yes." 

" Is  this  cause  which  you  call  'holy'  so  sacred  that 
}•  ou  would  be  willing  to  have  }' our  husband  killed  in 
its  defense  ?     Think  seriously  before  you  answer." 

The  blood  forsook  her  face  and  temples.  In  her 
ghastly  but  beautiful  paleness,  which  was  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  masses  of  dark  hair  that  swept  behind 
her  ears  in  sweet  confusion,  she  seemed  like  one  of 
those  fragile  vases  that  might  break  by  its  own  ex- 
quisite delicacy.  Her  eyes,  which  an  instant  before 
were  gazing  into  the  captain's  with  intense  earnest- 
ness, were  suddenly  introverted  as  it  were,  as  if 
searching  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  heart  to 
find  there  the  absolute  truth. 

If  the  human  mind  were  limited  in  its  conscious- 
ness and  perceptions  to  the  impressions  produced  by 
the  past,  the  present,  and  whatever  of  the  future  is 
within  the  scope  of  the  external  senses,  the  Eealists 
would  be  right  when  they  scornfully  scout  at  what 
is  called  the  supernatural. 


200  The  Sanctuary. 

The  traveler,  standing  on  the  Quai  d'Ecole,  which 
borders  the  Seine  near  the  old  city  of  Paris,  may  wit- 
ness one  of  the  most  picturesque  scenes  in  the  Old 
World.  Looking  toward  the  east,  the  eye  is  filled 
with  the  magnificent  proportions  of  the  fagade  of 
that  grand  cathedral,  Notre  Dame.  "With  what  ex- 
quisite grace  the  towers,  the  columns,  the  doorways, 
all  in  graceful  architectural  lines,  and  fretted  with 
curious  carvings,  the  windows  gorgeous  in  harmoni- 
ous colors,  rise  before  the  delighted  vision !  ^  The  eye 
takes  in  the  exterior  of  this  wonderful  work  of  art, 
but  can  not  penetrate  beyond  to  the  sanctuary  with- 
in. 

But  there  may  be  found  a  photograph  of  this  beau- 
tiful scene  from  the  same  point  of  view.  By  the  ap- 
plication of  the  microscope  to  the  printed  photo- 
graph, new  beauties  are  revealed  to  the  astonished  be- 
holder. .  He  sees  through  the  glass  windows,  pierces 
through  the  gloom  which,  with  endless  mysteries, 
fills  and  surrounds  those  solemn  arches,  and  on  the 
opposite  wall,  beyond  the  transept,  in  the  chapel -of 
the  Holy  Virgin,  he  discovers  hanging  there  a  lovely 
picture  of  the  Immaculate  Conception. 

What  a  wonder  of  mechanical  art  is  this!  The 
sensitive  plate  in  the  camera-obscura  had  accomplish- 
ed infinitely  more  than  could  the  power  of  vision ; 


The  Sanctuary.  201 

and  if  a  mere  instrument,  "the  work  of  men's  liands," 
powerless  without  human  agency,  could  achieve  so 
great  a  marvel,  where  is  the  limit  of  the  human  spir- 
itual faculty  ? 

We  know  that  in  many  persons  the  senses  and  in- 
tellect are  educated  to  heights  of  perception  that 
sometimes  seem  almost  limitless.  Why  may  they 
not  be  quite  limitless  ?  and  why  may  not  the  spirit- 
ual nature  become  so  exquisitely  sensitive,  especially 
in  its  correspondence  to  the  souls  of  others,  as  to 
penetrate  space  itself,  and,  not  cognizant  of  that 
which  we  call  time,  receive  the  images  of  events  hid- 
den from  the  material  senses  ? 

Whatever  may  be  the  possibilities  of  man's  nature, 
certain  it  is  that  as  Horton  gazed  upon  the  face  of 
the  rebel  general's  wife,  he  was  chilled  with  horror, 
for  in  a  moment  it  assumed  an  expression  of  pain 
and  terror,  as  if  some  awful  sight  had  met  her  gaze. 
With  outstretched  hands  she  moaned, 

"  Oh  no,  no,  it  can  not  be !" 

And  then,  her  mind  returning  from  its  wanderings, 
she  saw  the  Union  officer  standing  there.  Pressing 
her  hands  -to  her  throbbing  temples,  then  passing 
them  before  her  eyes  as  if  to  remove  some  scene  of 
terror,  she  rose  to  her  full  height,  and,  with  return- 
ing thought,  remembered  his  question.  With  determ- 
12 


202 


The  Sanctuary. 


ined  mien  and  unfaltering  voice,  slie  calmly,  coldly 
answered, 

"Yes;  in  the  defense  of  this  cause  I  am  willing  to 
see  dead  the  husband  whom  I  love  better  than  life." 

As  Horton  left  the  wufe  of  General  Buford,  he 
wondered  not  a  little  at  the  singular  infatuation 
which  had  taken  possession  of  the  people  of  the 
South,  and  which  exhibited  itself  so  painfully  in  this 
sensitive  and  delicate  woman.  "  They  believe  them- 
selves to  be  right,"  he  thought.  "Will  the  bitter 
price  tkey  pay  for  their  experience  undeceive  them? 
Heaven  help  them !" 


XXXI. 

O  UPPER  was  over  at  the  head-quarters  camp.  In 
'^  front  of  the  line  of  fly-tents  blazing  fires  were 
kindled.  The  labor  of  the  day  was  over ;  the  horses 
and  mules,  fed  and  groomed,  were  lying  down  to 
rest.  The  soldiers  who  were  not  on  guard  were  en- 
joying themselves  in  many  sports — some  pitching 
quoits,  others  running  foot-races  or  leaping  bar. 
The  officers  were  scattered  about.  Here  a  group 
were  studying  a  map  of  the  country,  marking  the 
routes  the  different  corps  of  the  army  had  already 
traversed,  prognosticating  the  future  or  the  cam- ' 
paign.  Inside  of  a  tent,  cross-legged  upon  his  blan- 
ket, a  knight  of  sword  and  spur  was  earnestly  en- 
gaged in  mending  his  trowsers  or  refastening  some 
recusant  button.  At  the  end. of  the  line  of  tents  a 
party  were  smoking  their  pipes.  Kow  and  then  a 
resonant  voice  would  break  forth  in  song,  followed 


204  The  Sanctuary. 

by  a  chorus  which  would  have  startled  Maretzek 
into  admiring  wonder. 

Perhaps  the  j oiliest  party  of  the  camp  were  a 
group  of  negroes  gathered  about  a  huge  barn  door, 
which,  placed  upon  the  ground,  served  as  a  platform 
for  the  dancers. 

"Now  go  way  dar  wid  yer  clumsy  foot.  I'll  show 
yer  what  de  light  fantastic  toe  is,"  said  a  big  muscu- 
lar negro  as  he  pushed  aside  the  crowd  and  stepped 
upon  the  platform. 

"  Who-oo-a,  he  calls  dat  hoof  a  light  fantasmam 
toe,"  shouted  Sam,  a  Georgia  negro,  who,  since  he 
had  joined  head-quarters,  had  exhibited  a  perpetual 
grin  upon  his  countenance.  On  this  occasion  he 
roared  with  laughter.  "Yer  call  dat  ar  a  toe!  wha, 
I  tell  yer  it's  all  a  hoof.  Dar  is  -qo  toe  about  de 
premsis." 

But  the  "hoofs"  were  flying  in  the  air  with  aston- 
ishing rapidity  nevertheless,  cutting  all  sorts  of  ca- 
■pers,  perf(Rning  the  neat,  intricate,  geometrical  fig- 
ures, occasionally  descending  upon  the  boards  with 
the  force  of  a  trip-hammer. 

"Look  out  dar,  Sam;  he'll  kick  dat  brack  nob  clar 
off  yer  shoulders,"  said  one. 

"De  iron-clads  do  make  a  noise,  sa!"  shouted  an- 
other. 


The  Sanctuary.  205 

The  dancer  renewed  his  tours  deforce.  Off  went 
liis  coat,  and  still  he  kicked  and  twisted ;  then  fol- 
lowed his  sliirt,  revealing  the  ebony  skin  covered 
with  perspiration  and  dust,  exhibiting  the  magnifi- 
cent muscular  proportions  of  his  body  and  arms, 
which  darted  back  and  forth,  and  up  and  down,  in 
frantic  gestures.  Finally,  by  a  concentrated  effort, 
which  seemed  to  have  called  into  action  every  mus- 
cle and  fibre  of  his  body,  he  sprang  into  the  air, 
doubling,  twisting,  and  screwing  J;iis  limbs  together, 
and  then,  falling  upon  all-fours,  he  leaped  through 
the  crowd  and  disappeared  amid  yells  of  applause. 
And  then  followed  another  and  another  sable  disci- 
ple of  Terpsichore,  each  trying  to  outdo  the  other  in 
strength  and  address,  if  not  in  grace,  until  tattoo  was 
sounded,  when  they,  as  well  as  their  white  compan- 
ions, obeyed  the  call  for  rest  and  sleep. 

From  far  and  near  come  these  calls.  In  the  camp 
across  the  river  a  drum  rolls  out  its  tat,  tat,  tat ;  on 
the  hill-side  a  band  pours  forth  its  musical  notes; 
while  in  the  far  distance  trumpet  answers  trumpet, 
until  the  shivering  air,  the  rocks,  and  hills,  and  woods 
re-echo  the  sound. 

The  soldier  reading  by  the  camp-fire  shuts  his 
book  and  rolls  himself  into  his  blanket ;  knots  of 
talkers  disentangle  themselves  and  separate,  each  go- 


206 


The  Sanctuary. 


ing  his  way ;  the  group  of  singers  chant  a  last  chorus, 
often  of  home  and  loved  ones  there ;  the  camp-fires 
lie  smouldering,  neglected. 

In  a  few  brief  moments,  as  if  a  magic  spell  had 
fallen  upon  the  army,  a  hundred  thousand  human 
beings  had  sank  to  sleep. 


XXXII. 

BUT  our  two  friends,  Horton  and  Dalton,  are  not 
among  the  sleeping  host.  Walking  back  and 
forward  in  the  starlight,  they  are  exchanging  their 
confidences.  To  Horton,  Dalton  could  unfold  his 
story.  As  it  is  said  that  on  shipboard  men  and 
women  reveal  more  of  their  true  character  in  a  week 
than  in  years  of  social  intercourse  at  home,  so  it  is  in 
the  army  life.  Men  stand  alone  there.  The  conven- 
tionalities which  hedge  in  and  control  the  passions  in 
polite  society  are  stripped  away,  and  men  are  taken 
for  what  they  are  worth. 

Yet  in  the  army,  as  in  society,  men  have  different 
ways  of  showing  even  the  good  that  is  in  them. 
Some  are  what  is  termed  good  by  the  natural  indo- 
lence of  their  character;  others  by  calculation ;  others 
by  vanity.  Horton  was  generous  and  good  because 
he  could  not  help  himself,  and  thus  Dalton  poured 


208  The  Saxctuary. 

fortli  the  pent-up  emotions  of  his  heart  without  stint 
or  reservation. 

"My  dear  friend,"'  he  said,  "I  never  kne^y  what  it 
was  to  love  in  those  old  days.  The  noble  self-sacri- 
fice of  Agnes  has  aroused  in  me  new  and  grand  sen- 
sations, which  are  strange  and  solemn.  Since  we 
left  Savannah,  I  have  begun  to  learn  something  of 
myself.  Even  out  of  the  regret  for  what  now  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  hopeless  suspension  of  my  affec- 
tion for  Agnes,  there  has  risen  a  firmer  faith  in  my- 
self and  a  purer  devotion  to  her.  In  following  the 
grand  example  she  has  set  me,  I  have  an  ambition  to 
reach  up  to  her  plane,  and  stand  equal  before  her." 

"  Love  will  accomplish  all  that  and  more,  Dalton," 
answered  his  friend.  "  I  believe  most  religiously  in 
the  power  and  grace  of  loving,  although  in  my  case 
I  can  not  say  that  it  has  raised  me  to  any  great 
height.  The  fact  is,"  he  continued,  in  a  lugubrious 
tone,  "my  love  for  that  dear  girl  way  up  there  in 
Boston  is  a  matter  of  faith.  I  have  no  right  to  sup- 
pose that,  like  Penelope,  she  sits  and  sews,  waiting 
for  her  wandering  warrior  to  return.  Yet  I  seem  to 
have  an  abiding  faith,  which  makes  me  think  of 
those  knights  who  went  away  to  the  Holy  Wars,  and 
came  back  long  years  after,  gray-bearded  and  on 
foot,  to  find  their  Evelinas  watching  from  the  castle- 


The  Sanctuary.  209 

walls.  If  I  sliould  not  see  Boston  Common  for  ten 
years  to  come,  I  know  I  should  find  Kate  still  Kate 
Noble." 

''I  hope  so,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,"  replied 
Lis  friend.  "  Who  is  that  in  the  tent  of  the  general?" 
he  continued,  stepping  forward. 

The  canvas  cover,  toward  which  the  eyes  of  both 
were  now  eagerly  directed,  like  the  others  on  the 
line,  which  were  the  homes  of  the  general's  military 
family,  was  open  from  the  front,  so  that  the  slightest 
movement  of  its  inmate  could  be  observed  from  the 
outside.     They  could  now  see  that  the  general  had 
risen  from  his  cot.     Thrusting  his  bare  feet  into  a 
pair  of  slippers,  he  unrolled  from  a  scrap  of  news- 
paper a  cigar,  and  then  stepped  out  from  such  pro- 
tection as  the  tent  afforded  from  the  falling  dew  into 
the  open  ground.     He  looked  up  to  the  sky,  and 
then  out  into  the   darkness,  in  an  absent,  half-ab- 
stracted way.     The    night -air    was   chill,  and  the 
camp-fire  had  burned  low.     Gathering  the  ends  of 
the  charred  rails  together,  he  heaped  them  upon  the 
still  smouldering   ashes;  then,  taking  a  camp-stool 
from  the  tent,  he  sat  down  before  the  fire,  which  had 
now  kindled  into  a  blaze ;  he  hghted  his  cigar,  and, 
with  his  elbows  resting  upon  his  knees,  gazed  earn- 
estly into  the  bed  of  coals  and  flame.     The  bright 


210  The  Sanctuary. 

light  shone  full  into  that  iron  face,  marked  with 
strong  lines  of  thought  and  care.  That  bold  fore- 
head seemed  to  project  itself  higher  and  broader 
among  the  short  scrub  growth  of  cross-grained  hair. 
The  light  caught  upon  the  unbuttoned  wristband, 
taking  a  warmer  glow  from  the  red  shirt  hardly  cov- 
ering his  bare  neck. 

A  strange,  grand  figure  was  this  sitting  there, 
whose  subtle  brain  at  that  moment  was  working  out 
one  of  the  great  events  in  the  fate  of  the  nation. 

The  flame  of  the  fire  now  gathered  new  strength, 
flaring  up  into  the  night,  revealing  the  interior  of 
the  tent  in  clearer  outline.  It  was  not  a  gorgeous 
pavilion,  carpeted  with  velvet  and  gold,  hung  with 
tapestry  of  silk  and  wool,  furnished  with  luxurious 
couch  and  ease -inviting  lounge,  with  liveried  serv- 
ants to  anticipate  its  owner's  slightest  wish,  surround- 
ed by  triple  sentinels  to  guard  him  from  every  harm. 

There  was  a  singular  simplicity  —  almost  a  pov- 
erty, which  marked  the  head-quarters  of  the  Great 
Captain. 

The  tent  was  a  single  piece  of  cotton  cloth,  stretch- 
ed from  a  ridge-pole,  where  it  was  held  firm  to  the 
ground  on  either  side  by  wooden  pegs.  A  cross-leg- 
ged camp-cot,  a  small  camp-chest,  which  is  half  cov- 
ered by  the  uniform  thrown  carelessly  upon  it,  makes 


The  Sanctuary.  211 

np  the  scanty  furniture.  Beside  a  single  candle  burnt 
to  its  socket  there  lies  a  volume  of  Waverley.  A  Ict- 
'ter-book  answers  for  a  writing-table ;  a  valise  is  the 
general's  only  traveling  baggage.  A  number  of  maps, 
some  opened,  and  all  well  worn,  lie  upon  the  blanket 
which  answers  for  a  floor  to  the  tent.  There  was  very 
little  pretension  about  this  manege  of  the  commander 
who  had  millions  at  his  disposal.  This  was  no  Eo- 
man  consul  nor  modern  emperor  traveling  in  grand 
state,  with  pompous  mien  and  brilliant  retinue,  but  a 
citizen-general  of  the  Kepublic,  not  borrowing  dig- 
nity from  adventitious  surroundings,  but  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  an  unselfisli  devotion  .to  his  country  doing 
•the  work  which  lay  before  him. 

There  was  a  weird  grandeur,  supernaturally  pic- 
turesque, in  this  intense  stillness,  this  silent,  motion- 
less figure  of  the  chief  of  thousands  of  strong  men, 
who  slept  while  he  sat  watching— the  central  figure 
in  the  grand  picture.  In  the  spectral  fire-light  it 
seemed  almost  alone,  for  the  line  of  tents  receded  in 
the  darkness  on  either  side.  The  moon  now  and 
then  burst  through  the  masses  of  heavy  clouds,  re- 
vealing groups  of  tents  on  the  distant  hill -side; 
horses  and  mules  were  crouched  upon  the  ground ; 
while  behind  them  rose  a  forest  of  pines,  filled  with 
'  mysterious  shadows,  the  graceful  tree-tops  melting 
into  the  veil  of  blue. 


212  The  Sanctuary. 

".What  a  grand  subject  is  that  for  the  pencil  of 
Delaroche  or  Gerome !''  said  Horton,  who,  with  his 
friend,  had  stood  gazing  at  this  picturesque  and  yet 
solemn  sight.     He  continued — 

"I  had  rather  be  able  to  paint  that  picture  as  we 
see  it  now  than  be  a  general  in  the  regular  army." 

"It  is  a  remarkable  sight,"  said  his  friend,  " and 
of  peculiar  significance." 

The  two  officers  resumed  their  walk.  As  they 
passed  the  general  he  raised  his  head. 

"Horton,"  he  said,  as  he  recognized  him,  "I  wish 
3'ou  to  start  off  at  once  upon  a  reconnoissance.  Go 
to  General  Howard  and  ask  him  for  an  escort;  two 
companies  of  mounted  infantry  w^ill  answer.  Go 
back  on  the  road  by  w^hich  we  came  this  morning; 
about  half  a  mile  outside  the  town  you  will  find  a 
white  house,  back  from  the  main  road  a  little  way." 

"I  remember  it,  general." 

"By  the  side  of  that  house,  running  east,  is  a  road 
which  was  used  in  the  Eevolutionarj^  War  by  the 
English  troops,  when  they  had  a  chain  of  posts 
which  ran  through  Camden  and  Eocky  Mount.  To- 
morrow I  shall  make  a  right  wheel  of  the  army, 
striking  directly  for  the  Santee  Eiver.  I  wish  you 
to  push  on  to  the  river  as  quick  as  you  can ;  ascer- 
tain all  that  may  be  desirable  of  the  fords  and  cross- 


The  Sanctuary.  213 

ings,  the  condition  of  tlie  roads,  the  nature  of  the 
bank  of  the  stream,  the  depth  of  water,  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  and  whether  it  has  a  rocky  or  sandy  bot- 
tom. But  you  know  what  I  want.  The  great  ne- 
cessity is  speed.  Get  back  as  quickly  as  possible. 
You  will  find  me  with  the  advance  somewhere  on 
the  main  road  to  Rocky  Mount.  By  the  way,  you 
had  better  take  a  good  horse.     You  may  need  him." 

"You  may  go  too,  if  you  like.  Major  Dalton,"  con- 
tinued the  general,  in  answer  to  that  officer's  inquir- 
ing look. 

When  Horton,  after  giving  Baxter  orders  for  the 
saddling  of  his  horse,  returned  to  his  tent  for  his 
sword  and  pistols,  he  found  Zimri  standing  there. 

"Ah!  Zimri,  I  thought  you  had  turned  in  to  sleep." 

"I  don't  sleep  much  of  late,  captain.  Are  you  go- 
ing on  a  scout  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  captain.  I  know  every  foot 
of  this  country — on  this  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Santee."     . 

"  That's  just  the  thing,  Zimri,  for  I  do  not.  Make 
haste  and  get  your  horse,  for  I  will  be  off  in  a  mo- 
ment." 


XXXIII. 

"FT  was  an  hour  past  midnight  before  the  reconnoi- 
■^  tring  partj  had  turned  off  from  the  main  road 
upon  the  old  war-path  so  clearly  designated  by  the 
general  in  his  instructions  to  Horton.  Passing  the 
picket-post,  they  met  a  foraging  party  who  during 
the  day  had  lost  their  way,  and  were  just  coming 
into  camp. 

"You  won't  find  any  Eebs  out  there,  captain. 
We've  been  foraging  over  a  right  smart  piece  of 
country,  and  didn't  come  across  nary  a  Reb,"  was  the 
salutation  of  the-  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  squad  of 
men,  laden  with  chickens,  pigs,  and  other  spoils  for 
the  cooking  mess. 

"  Thank  you,"  was  the  response,  and  the  men  filed 
by  each  other  as  they  moved  in  opposite  directions. 

Notwithstanding  the  assurances  of  the  foragers 
that  there  was  no  enemy  near,  Horton  was  too  ex- 


The  Sanctuary.  215 

periencecl  a  campaigner  and  too  good  a  soldier  to 
neglect  any  precaution  in  the  enemy's  country ;  so 
he  gave  orders  to  the  men  to  preserve  strict  silence, 
and  the  advanced  guard  were  cautioned  not  to  fire, 
nor  give  any  token  of  their  presence  should  they 
come  in  sight  of  an  enemy,  but  at  once  and  quietly 
to  fall  back.  Thus  the  band  of  soldiers  marched  si- 
lently along,  plunging  into  the  dark  woods,  splashing 
across  pebbly  brooks,  emerging  into  the  open  country 
again,  but  always  moving  steadily  on.  Meanwhile 
H<frton  called  Zimri  to  his  side. 

"You  told  me  back  at  camjD  that  jou.  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  country  about  the  Santce  Kiver. 
"Why  did  you  suppose  I  was  going  there?" 

''Because  the  regions  north  of  this  breaks  up  into 
steep  hills,  and  an  ^rmy  would  find  it  difficult  to 
cross  them  with  heavy  trains.  If  you  march  to  the 
east,  you  will  find  the  country  more  open,  with  few 
hills,  and  more  sandy.  You  will  remember,  captain, 
that  it  was  very  nearly  upon  this  route  that  Greene 
made  his  retreat  in  the  old  war." 

"Yes,"  replied  Horton,  "we  know  that;  but  I  did 
not  understand  that  this  line  was  chosen  so  much  be- 
cause of  its  topographical  advantages,  but  rather  as  a 
matter  of  necessity." 

"It  was  both  one   and  the   other,"  said  Dalton. 


216  The  Sanctuary. 

"  And  so  you  think  our  general  has  chosen  that  line, 
Zimri?" 

"Yes,  major;  if  it  is  not  presuming,  I  did  think  so." 

"  Well,  Zimri,"  said  Horton,  "  I  hope  the  rebels 
are  not  of  the  same  opinion,  as  they  could  give  us 
serious  trouble  at  the  river." 

The  party  had  now  arrived  at  a  point  where  two 
roads  at  an  acute  angle  led  into  that  upon  which 
they  were  traveling.  For  a  moment  there  was  a 
halt,  while  Zimri  explained  that  both  roads  termin- 
ated at  the  place  called  Rocky  Mount,  upon  the  Ay 
er's  bank. 

"I  hear  horses'  hoofs,  captain,"  said  Zimri,  sud- 
denly. • 

All  the  party  were  silent  and  listened,  but  not  a 
breath  of  sound  could  be  heard  ^ave  some  tree-crick- 
ets chirping  in  the  woods. 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Zimri,"  said  Horton. 

"Let  us  ride  forward  a  few  rods,  captain,  away 
from  the  troop.     We  can  hear  better  then." 

"Yes,  I  can  hear  them  distinctly,"  Zimri  contin- 
ued, as  he  dismounted  and  placed  his  ear  to  the 
ground. 

Although  Horton  followed  the  example  of  this 
keen-eared  scout,  yet  he  could  not  distinguish  the 
slightest  sound. 


The  Sanctuaky.  217 

"  Captain,  there  is  a  large  party  of  them  coming 
this  way,  and,  from  their  direction,  they  must  be 
rebels.  If  you  will  pardon  me,  sir,  you  can  ride  for- 
ward a  little,  and  halt  in  the  woods  yonder.  I  will 
go  on  ahead,  and  will  find  out  in  a  few  moments 
who  they  are." 

"Baxter  shall  go  with  you.  But  you  have  no 
arms." 

"  I  can  do  mucb  better  alone,  if  you  will  let  Bax- 
ter take  care  of  my  horse.  As  for  arms,  I  don't  need 
them  just  now.  I  sball  find  them  when  I  want 
them." 

In  an  instant  the  tall  form  of  Zimri  was  running 
swiftly  up  tlie  road,  and  soon  disappeared  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  while  Horton  followed  him  with 
his  troop  of  soldiers,  halting  in  an  undergrowth  of 
young  trees  which  had  sprung  up  under  the  shadows 
of  the  tall  pines. 

Five  minutes  could  not  have  elapsed  when  Zimri 
again  stood  almost  breathless  by  Horton's  side.  A 
new  light  shone  in  his  pale  face — an  almost  joyful 
look,  which  transformed  those  careworn  features. 

''Yes,  captain,  there  is  a  regiment  of  rebel  cavalry 
within  three  hundred  yards  of  us,  and  they  are  com- 
ing along  without  suspicion  of  your  presence.  Oh, 
captain !"  he  exclaimed,  with  fervor,  "  thank  God  I 

K 


218  The  Sanctuary. 

can  at  last  meet  them  in  honorable  battle.  Oh,  sir, 
I  can  now  strike  a  blow  in  the  cause  of  freedom." 

Horton  turned  to  the  troop,  and  said  in  low  but 
distinct  tones, 

"  Take  the  horses  to  the  right  and  rear.  Look 
well,  men,  to  your  carbines  and  cartridge-boxes. 
Preserve  entire  silence.    Let  not  a  word  be  spoken." 


XXXIV. 


TTTE  will  go  back  a  few  hours  in  the  order  of 

*  *  time,  and  enter  the  rebel  lines.  A  council  of 
generals  has  been  called  to  attempt  to  restore  the 
morale  of  the  flying  army,  to  decide  upon  some  plan 
by  which  to  check  the  progress  of  the  Federal  host. 
There  is  no  unity  in  defeat,  and  wild  and  stormy  is 
the  debate ;  but  upon  one  point  they  are  all  agreed : 
the  invading  foe  are  marching  upon  the  vitally  im- 
portant railroad  junction  at  Charlotte. 

''If  he  can  be  draw^n  up  into  the  mountains,  we 
can  attack  his  columns  in  detail,  and  destroy  this 
cursed  Yankee  rabble,"  said  one. 

"For  a  rabble,  they  manage  successfully  to  over- 
run our  fortifications  and  capture  our  cities,"  said 
another,  in  a  sneering  tone. 

"Would  to  Heaven  President  Davis  would  give 
up  the  useless  defense  of  Eichmond,  and  concentrate 
our  armies  in  the  interior,"  bitterly  growled  a  third. 


220  The  Saxctuary. 

"  This  discussion  is  unnecessar}^,  and  divides  our 
council,  gentlemen,"  said  Beauregard ;  and  then, 
turning  to  Hampton,  he  continued — 

"It  is  now  near  midnight.  General,  you  will  at 
once  send  a  regiment  upon  the  right  flank  of  the 
enemy.  Let  them  scout  on  all  the  roads,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, get  in  the  enemy's  rear,  and  penetrate  their 
lines.  A  successful  attack  upon  their  wagon-train 
would  be  of  more  service  than  it  is  possible  to  at- 
tain if  we  oppose  twenty  times  jouv  number  in  their 
front.     Send  the  best  commanding  officer  you  have." 

In  a  few  moments  Hampton  had  issued  his  orders, 
and  the  regiment  was  in  the  road,  marching  quickly 
and  confidently  forward,  for  the  Yankees  were  sup- 
posed to  be  far  to  the  right  of  the  route  over  which 
they  were  marching. 

It  was  this  body  of  cavalry  whose  footsteps  had 
reached  the  quick  ear  of  Zimri. 

It  was  these  reckless  riders  whom  Horton  was 
waiting  to  receive.     He  did  not  wait  long. 


XXXY. 

nnHEEE  had  been  no  moon  that  night,  and  at  the 
-^  moment  when  Horton  halted  his  small  com- 
mand, it  was  near  morning,  and  it  was  so  dark  that 
objects  could  not  be  defined  ten  yards  ahead.  A 
night  fight  is  not  the  most  pleasant  of  entertain- 
ments ;  but  Horton  had  no  choice  in  the  matter  of 
time.     These  people  stood  in  his  way  to  the  river. 

The  rebel  general  was  marching  a  few  paces  in 
the  rear  of  his  advance  guard.  They  had  passed  a 
large  plantation,  and  were  just  in  the  edge  of  the 
forest  of  lofty  pines,  while  on  either  side  of  the  road 
were  old  cotton-fields.  Suddenly  the  guard  halted. 
Eiding  forward,  tho  general  demanded, 

"Why  do  you  halt,  sergeant?" 

''  I  think  I  saw  persons  running  across  the  road, 
in  the  woods  there." 

"Silence  in  the  rear!"  shouted  the  general  to  the 


222  The  Sanctuary. 

meD,  "who  were  laughing  and  jesting  with  their  usual 
recklessness  of  consequences. 

In  a  moment  the  clamor  ceased,  and  the  onl}^  sound 
that  broke  upon  the  night  air  was  the  jingle  of  a  sa- 
bre, as  some  restless  horse  moved  about. 

"You  may  have  been  in  error,  sergeant.  Send 
forward  3-our  men  to  reconnoitre." 

Hardly  had  the  words  escaped  his  lips  when  there 
came  ringing  through  the  forest  the  shrill  neigh  of  a 
horse,  which  was  answered  by  another  and  still  an- 
other.    With  an  oath  the  general  shouted, 

"  We  have  struck  the  Yankee  lines." 

Turning  quickly  to  his  officer  next  in  command, 
he  cried, 

"Dismount  ten  men  at  once,  and  throw  down  the 
rails  on  either  side  of  the  road.  Deploy  Company  A 
to  the  right  and  Company  B  to  the  left,  and  form  line 
of  battle." 

By  this  time  the  thick  darkness  was  succeeded  by 
a  deceptive  gloaming,  in  which  loomed  up,  fifty 
yards  in  advance,  spectral  figures  of  horsemen  with 
sabres  drawn. 

"  Prepare  to  receive  charge  of  cavalry !"  shouted 
the  general ;  and  then,  in  the  impetuosity  of  his  fiery 
nature,  in  quick  and  sharp  tones  he  cried, 

"  Prepare  to  charge;  charge!" 


The  Sanctuary.  223 

The  general,  with  two  companies,  clashed  forward 
at  the  head  of  the  column.  From  the  Union  side 
not  a  sound  had  followed  the  neighing  of  the  horses. 
The  silence  was  ominous. 

In  five  seconds  the  rebel  general  was  almost  with- 
in sabre's  touch  of  the  line  of  horsemen  in  the  wood, 
when  they  rapidly  wheeled  to  the  right  and  left  (a 
single  platoon  of  them  only  were  there),  and  then 
there  rang  out  above  the  clatter  of  arms,  the  tramp 
of  horses,  and  the  yells  of  the  men,  shrill  and  pierc- 
ing, the  single  word  "  Fire !" 

Streams  of  fire  poured  out  from  a  hundred  car- 
bines, whicb  radiated  from  the  point  in  the  road 
where  the  trap  had  been  set  toward  the  rebel  lines. 
It  was  a  most  terrible  cross-fire,  where  every  shot  told 
on  either  rider  or  horse.  The  road  was  filled  with 
struggling,  screaming,  wounded,  and  dying  men  and 
animals. 

From  his  position  at  the  head  of  the  column,  the 
rebel  general  had  escaped  with  a  single  companion. 
They  found  themselves  in  the  open  space  beyond 
the  woods,  out  from  which  came  the  rattle  of  mus- 
ketry, the  shouts  of  the  combatants,  the  terrible 
screams  of  wounded  horses. 

''  Are  you  hurt,  Ghilson  ?"  asked  the  general,  turn- 
ing to  his  companion. 


224  The  Sanctuary. 

"I  think  not,  sir.  This  is  an  infernal  ambuscade 
we  have  tumbled  into.'' 

"Yes,  and  only  a  light  scouting  party  at  that. 
This  is  not  even  an  outpost,  or  wc  should  see  more 
troops  coming  up." 

"  What  shall  we  do,  general?  How  are  we  to  get 
back?" 

"  By  the  way  we  came,"  replied  the  general,  sav- 
agely, and  he  settled  himself  more  firmly  in  the  stir- 
rups, while  he  pressed  both  spurs  into  the  flanks  of 
his  horse,  already  maddened  by  the  noise  and  con- 
flict of  battle.  The  noble  animal  sprang  into  the  air, 
and  bounded  forward  into  the  woods  again,  leaping 
over  the  fallen  horses,  trampling  with  his  iron  hoofs 
among  the  dead  and  d3ang,  avoiding  the  showers  of 
bullets. 

In  vain  does  Horton  attempt  to  bar  his  passage. 
A  cut  from  the  flying  sabre  of  the  rebel  rider  dis- 
ables his  sword-arm. 

"  Capture  or  kill  that  man  !"  shouted  Horton. 

But  he  has  run  the  gauntlet  of  death.  He  sees  his 
soldiers,  panic-stricken,  flying  from  the  field.  A  few 
strides  of  that  noble  horse  have  placed  him  beyond 
musket  range.  His  companion  is  no  longer  by  his 
side.     With  bitter  curses  he  mutters, 

"  They  may  be  rallied  yet." 


The  Sanctuaey.  225 

But  a  weird  figure  springs  into  tlie  road  before 
him — a  tall,  stalwart  shape  it  is.  His  jacket  is  cov- 
ered with  dust  and  blood.  Wild  black  eyes  glare 
from  behind  the  matted,  tangled  hair.  The  fright- 
ened horse  leaps  to  one  side  in  the  attempt  to  pass ; 
but  an  iron  hand  and  an  iron  arm,  impelled  by  an 
iron  will,  has  gripped  the  bit,  flaked  with  foam,  and 
with  prodigious  strength  holds  the  plunging  beast  as 
if  he  were  chained  to  a  rock. 

The  blooded  stallion  had  felt  that  hand  before. 
Horseman  and  footman  recognized  each  other  as 
well. 

There  were  no  words  spoken  by  the  two  brothers 
except  such  language  as  may  find  speech  in  the  eyes 
when  Hate  and  Revenge  give  and  accept  the  chal- 
lenge of  life  for  life.  They  are  no  longer  master  and 
slave,  or,  if  they  are,  Zimri  is  master.  Before  Gen- 
eral Ralph  has  raised  his  sword  to  strike,  Zimri  has 
loosened  his  hold  of  the  bit,  but  at  the  same  instant, 
with  fingers  of  steel,  he  clutches  the  rider  by  the 
throat.  The  horse  dashes  away,  but  the  rider  re- 
mains. General  Ralph  was  a  superb  horseman,  but 
he  lost  his  seat  just  then.  He  was  well  armed,  but 
the  muscles  refused  to  obey  the  will.  That  relent- 
less pressure  of  Zimri's  fingers  about  his  neck  un- 
nerved him.  His  sword  fell  harmless  by  his  side. 
K2 


226  TiiE   Sanctuary. 

There  was  justice  and  revenge  in  Zimri's  fingers  for 
Charlotte,  his  wife,  twice  murdered.  The  memories 
of  a  lifetime  of  outrages  in  bondage  was  in  his  fin- 
gers. This  was  more  than  the  struggle  for  life  as 
between  man  and  man — more  than  that  between  the 
seducer  and  the  betrayed  husband.  The  spirit  of 
Freedom  had  the  spirit  of  Slavery  by  the  throat,  and 
meant  to  strangle  it  to  death.  It  was  that  kind  of 
equality  which  does  not  require  special  legislation, 
but  has  its  abiding  power  in  the  fact  that  it  asserts 
itself.  It  was  that  terrible  power  which,  with  the 
consciousness  of  newborn  freedom,  springs  into  life 
full  armed,  and  woe  be  to  him  who  menaces  that  lib- 
erty, and  seeks  to  re-enslave. 

The  slave -master  struggled  hard,  grappling  with 
his  enemy.  At  last  they  went  down  together  in  the 
road,  and  then,  by  a  superhuman  effort  which  men 
in  the  supreme  crisis  of  death  sometimes  make,  Gen- 
eral Ealph  freed  his  throat  from  Zimri's  fingers. 
Springing  to  his  feet,  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt. 
It  was  his  last  effort,  for  the  life  had  gone  out  of 
him.  He  swayed  to  and  fro,  while  Zimri  stood 
watching.  The  stare  of  death  was  in  the  rebel  gen- 
eral's eyes,  there  was  a  rattle  in  his  throat,  and  then, 
in  accents  of  rage,  anguish,  and  despair,  he  moaned, 
"  Slave !  0  God !  my  wife !  my  child !"  and  fell  his 
full  lensfth,  a  dead  man. 


The  Sanctuary.  227 

How  long  Zimri  stood,  with  arms  folded,  watching 
by  the  ghastly  corpse,  he  did  not  know.  But  Hor- 
ton,  who  meanwhile  had  sent  back  to  camp  a  detail 
with  the  wounded,  found  the  freed  man  standing 
there. 

" Zimri  1  Zimri!  are  you  wounded?  How  came 
you  here  ?     Who  is  this  dead  man  ?" 

Zimri,  aroused  from  his  stupor,  with  a  piteous  sad- 
ness in  his  face,  looked  at  his  questioner,  and  then  at 
the  figure  lying  in  the  dust. 

"That  man  was  General  Kalpli  Buford,  my  half- 
brother  ;  he  called  himself  master." 

"The  husband  of  Mrs.  Buford,  at  Winnsboro'?" 

"  Yes." 

"Yes,  I  killed  that  man,"  he  continued,  in  answer 
to  the  horrified  inquiring  look  of  Horton.  "  But  it 
was  a  fair  fight.  He  had  no  right,  neither  did  he  ask 
mercy  from  me.  My  father  was  his  father,  but  if  I 
thought  his  vile  blood  ran  in  my  veins,  I  would  let 
it  out  with  my  life." 

Zimri  did  not  need  to  defend  the  taking  of  the 
rebel  general's  life.  Horton  had  witnessed  too  many 
scenes  where  friends  and  brothers  met  in  deadly 
strife  upon  the  battle-field.  It  was  the  mad  declara- 
tion of  the  rebel  general's  wife  which  rang  in  his 
ears  like  a  weird  prophecy.     Was  it  a  chance  coinci- 


228  The  Sanctuary. 

dence,  or  was  it  a  projDhetic  vision  photographed  to 
lier  senses  at  the  moment?  And  whether  truly  or 
falsely,  she  had  avowed  her  willingness  for  such  a 
sacrifice. 

Horton  was  not  a  believer  in  what  is  vulgarly 
called  the  supernatural,  3'et  his  temperament  was  im- 
a2:inative,  and  imbued  with  that  fine  artistic  sense 
which  recognizes,  if  it  does  not  comprehend,  the 
mystery  of  the  unseen.  In  the  hour  of  battle  a  man 
lives  out  the  history  of  years  of  peace.  In  this 
struggle  for  mastery  of  muscle  and  mind,  the  powers 
of  the  soul  are  sublimated  to  the  supremest  heights 
of  thouo^ht.  How  sTand  were  the  brief  moments 
just  passed — the  suspense  before  the  shock  of  con- 
flict, the  wild  thrill  when  steel  met  steel,  the  exul- 
tation of  victory,  and  now  the  lifeless  body  of  Bu- 
ford,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  staring  up  into  the  misty 
gray  of  the  morning.  "With  vivid  intensity  Horton 
recalled  that  vision  of  the  imagination  which  came 
np  before  him  when  standing  among  the  solemn 
death-shadows  upon  the  parapet  of  Fort  McAllister, 
and  again  while  the  army  rested  at  Savannah. 

What  possible  relation  was  there  between  the  rev- 
elation of  death  to  Mrs.  Buford  and  his  own  weird  . 
dreams  ? 


8^^S^/^??^Sr^  "^^^^S^s."'  ^v    't^tS^t^i^  ^n 

^^ 

^^^^^ 

XXXVI. 

TTOETON,  without  farther  obstruction,  reached 
-^^  the  river.  In  a  few  hours  he  had  made  a 
thorough  examination  of  the  principal  fords,  and  was 
able  to  report  to  his  chief  in  ample  time  for  him  to 
make  use  of  this  invaluable  information. 

A  momentous  day^  was  that  for  Sherman's  army. 
With  a  grandeur  and  certainty  of  purpose  compara- 
ble only  to  the  majestic  movements  of  the  celestial 
spheres,  it  had  partially  revolved  upon  its  own  axis. 
With  head  and  trail  of  fire,  resistless,  terrible  as  the 
comet  wanderers  of  the  air,  it  had  shot  off  on  a  tan- 
gent, reaching  the  river  between  the  rising  and  the 
setting  of  the  sun,  as  it  were,  at  a  single  bound. 

Like  every  movement  by  the  flank,  this  was  in 
the  highest  degree  dangerous,  had  there  been  a  wise 
and  active  enemy  in  the  front.  But  a  demonstration 
by  cavalry  and  infantry,  vigorously  made  toward  the 
north,  confirmed  the  bewildered  rebel  leader  in  his 


230  The  Sanctuary. 

mistaken  suppositions,  and  it  is  probable  that  Sher- 
man, that  great  hero  of  a  host  of  heroes,  never  felt 
more  secure  against  molestation  than  when  he  pitch- 
ed his  tents  on  the  banks  of  the  head-waters  of  the 
San  tee. 

There  was  the  usual  scene  of  bustle  and  excite- 
ment about  the  cam§^.  Details  of  foraging  parties, 
squads  of  mounted  orderlies,  and  a  small  army  of 
head-quarter  negroes  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  from 
a  neighboring  barn,  carrying  bundles  of  fodder  and 
sacks  of  corn.  Fires  were  already  burning  in  the 
rear  of  the  tents,  kettles  of  water  were  placed  upon 
the  blazing  rails,  camp-chests  were  emptied  of  their 
incongruous  pharaphernalia  of  cooking  utensils  and 
table-ware.  Prominent  in  this  enlivening  campaign 
was  the  chef  de  cuisine^  a  brawny  negro,  with  his  black 
arms  buried  in  a  huge  mass  of  flour  and  dough,  who 
was  giving  orders  to  his  numerous  attendants.  He 
was  king  absolute :  not  even  the  commanding  gen- 
eral might  interfere  here. 

"  Bob,  wha  fur  yer  stan'  dar  doin'  nuthin'  ?  Tak 
de  fedders  orf  dat  ar  turkey !"  was  his  angry  cry  to  a 
juvenile  darkey,  who  was  inciting  a  gladiatorial  ex- 
hibition between  two  roosters  that  day  captured. 

"Sam!  Sam!"  he  shouted  to  another,  "I  gets 
tired  a  hollering  arter  you.     Yer  right  dun  lazy,  yer 


The  Sanctuary.  231 

is,  an'  dat's  a  fac'.  When  it  comes  ter  eatin',  jer 
mighty  fas'.     Now  jes  watch  dat  ar  fire." 

"Nigger,''  he  continued,  in  a  satisfactory  growl  to 
himself,  "nigger  is  almost  slower  dan  de  poor  white 
trash." 

Under  these  energetic  directions,  dinner  seemed  in 
a  fair  way  to  be  placed  upon  the  covers  of  the  camp- 
chest,  which  also  was  used  as  a  table. 

Other  negroes  were  at  work  ditching  about  the 
tents,  unpacking  the  blankets  which  served  as  mat- 
tress and  covering  for  camp-beds. 

The  ofScers  were  grouped  about  variously  em- 
ployed, or  waiting  for  dinner.  Horton,  under  the 
surgeon's  charge,  was  having  his  arm  dressed,  for 
the  sword-cut  of  the  rebel  general  had  proved  to  be 
a  more  serious  wound  than  he  had  at  first  supposed. 
While  no  blood  was  drawn,  nor  any  bones  broken, 
the  upper  part  of  the  arm,  from  the  shoulder  to  the 
elbow-joint,  was  swollen  and  inflamed,  and  the  doc- 
tor pleasantly  informed  him  that  he  must  be  careful, 
or  disastrous  consequences  might  follow. 

Meanwhile  the  troops  were  going  into  camp.  The 
army  that  day  had  been  well  "closed  up,"  as  the  mil- 
itary phrase  has  it,  when  one  brigade  or  a  division 
marches  close  in  the  rear  of  another,  and  there  are 
none  of  those  widely  separated  gaps  which  often- 


232  The  Saxctuary. 

times  occur  tbrongh  straggling  or  a  bad  state  of  the* 
roads.  Column  after  column,  as  tliey  approached 
the  river,  filed  off  to  the  right  and  left  to  their  select- 
ed camping -grounds,  their  small  shelter -tents,  like 
scattered  snow-flakes  which  fall  in  the  autumn  days, 
covering  the  hill-tops,  spreading  out  over  the  mead- 
ows, nestling  in  the  valleys. 

Horton,  released  from  the  surgeon's  kind  care, 
with  his  friend  Dalton,  lay  on  the  grassy  bank  watch- 
ing a  column  of  troops  as  they  passed  with  quick- 
ened gait,  conscious  that  they  were  about  to  obtain 
that  rest  they  so  much  desired  after  their  long  day's 
march.  Sturdy,  healthy  fellows  were  they,  merrily 
singing  or  jesting  with  each  other  as  they  jogged 
along.  The  mules  and  horses  with  their  packs,  their 
load  of  blankets,  pots,  pans,  kettles,  knapsacks,  and 
what  not,  seemed  to  understand  that  they  too  were 
near  their  home  for  the  night,  the  former  braying 
loudly  in  hungry  anticipation  of  food  and  drink. 

In  the  rear  of  this  heterogeneous,  straggling  crowd 
of  four-footed  camp-followers  there  came  a  number 
of  poor  creatures,  prisoners  and  deserters  from  the 
rebel  army,  pale,  wan,  and  sickly.  Some  were  hat- 
less,  their  uncombed  hair  hanging  in  yellow  streaks 
over  their  faces  and  necks.  Many  were  without 
coats,  with  miserable  apologies  for  shirts  wherewith 


The  Sanctuary.  233 

to  cover  tbeir  imkedness.  The  most  of  them  picked 
tlieir  toilsome  way  over  the  hard  roads  with  bare 
and  bleeding  feet— more  were  dirty,  all  were  wretch- 
ed, woe-begone,  spiritless. 

As  this  band  of  unfortunates  came  in  sight,  Dalton 
rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  out  toward  the  road, 
scanning  their  faces  as  they  passed.  A  painful,  re- 
pulsive sight  it  was,  and,  as  they  staggered  by,  Dal- 
ton  turned  to  rejoin  his  friend,  while  there  came  into 
his  kind,  noble  face  that  old  look  of  weary  disap- 
pointment. Day  after  day  had  he  made  that  search ; 
thousands  of  just  such  hungry  faces  and  tattered 
forms  had  passed  before  his  eyes.  Often  had  he  ask- 
ed questions;  now  and  then  he  thought  he  had  ob-. 
tained  a  trace  of  Harold,  but  the  investigation  had 
proved  fruitless,  until,  finally,  he  hAd  ceased  to  ques- 
tion. The  thread  had  been  lost,  and  still  he  did  not 
despair.  He  was  still  resolved.  To  find  tidings  of 
his  brother  alive  he  prayerfully  hoped,  and  if  dead, 
at  least  he  would  know  how  and  where  he  died. 

"Oh  no,"  he  thought,  •" noble,  generous,  tender, 
loving  Agnes  had  not  nursed  Harold  back  to  life  to 
have  it  so  ignobly  sacrificed." 

And  then  the  associations  of  these  two,  Agnes  and 
Harold,  which  these  weeks  past,  during  every  hour 
of  the  day,  were  companions  in  his  highest  aspira- 


23-i  The  Saxctuary. 

tioii,  his  tenderest  emotions,  came  at  that  instant 
more  vividlj^  to  his  mind  than  ever  before,  brmging 
tumultuous  love -longings,  suffusing  his  eyes  with 
tears,  and  he  halted  several  feet  from  Horton,  and 
turned  his  face  away,  for  even  his  friend  must  not 
see  this  emotion. 

The  gang  of  prisoners  had  not  3'et  turned  the  cor- 
ner of  the  road  behind  which  the  column  of  troops 
had  disappeared  from  sight,  when  a  wild  cry  breaks 
out  from  their  midst.  It  is  a  cry  of  hope,  of  joy,  of 
recognition.  A  figure  moves  out  from  among  this 
unhappy  throng.  As  he  stumbles  toward  the  Union 
oflficer,  he  calls,  with  a  sad  plaint  in  his  voice,  in  the 
pathos  of  fear  lest  he  be  forgotten, 

"David!  David!  David!" 

Dalton  does  not  recognize  that  pallid  face,  that 
shrunken,  tattered,  tottering  form ;  but  the  sound  of 
that  voice,  those  pleading  tones,  strike  the  key-note 
of  a  strain  these  four  years  silent.  It  sang  of  child- 
hood, home,  father,  mother,  sister,  brother,  and  he 
sprang  forward  to  meet  him,  crying  "Harold!  Har- 
old !■'  to  catch  the  fainting  form  in  his  strong  arms, 
to  bear  him  away  to  his  tent,  to  pour  into  that  sick, 
thirsting  soul  words  of  loving  welcome. 

Horton,  who  had  recognized  in  Harold  the  deserter 
who  came  to  the  head-quarters  in  Columbia,  proffer- 


The  Sanctuary.  235 

ed  bis  assistance  to  Dalton,  and  then  left  them  to  the 
sacred  joys  of  their  final  reunion. 

It  is  more  than  a  year  since  that  glad  day,  but 
Harold  has  never  told  the  story  of  his  persecution 
and  suffering.  He  shrinks  from  any  allusion  to  that 
subject  with  unutterable  horror.  The  terrors  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition  had  its  parallel  in  America  in 
this  our  nineteenth  century.  But  the  flag  of  the 
United  States  became  a  Sanctuary  to  all  the  vic- 
tims of  treason  and  oppression. 


XXXYIL 

XN  all  the  gamut  of  human  sensations,  there  is  none 
^  comparable  to  that  where  the  soldier,  returning 
from  a  long  campaign,  where  he  has  been  shut  out 
from  all  intercourse  with  home  or  the  outer  world, 
except  such  as  he  may  obtain  through  the  discolored 
or  distorted  stories  of  the  enemy's  newspapers,  when 
he  at  last  receives  the  package  of  letters  and  mes- 
sages accumulated  for  weeks  or  months.  It  is  a  sin- 
gular, anomalous  sensation,  when  pleasure  and  sur- 
prise are  strangely  mingled.  He  passes  over  one 
and  another  missive,  eagerly  seeking  for  some  fa- 
miliar handwriting  or  significant  postmark.  If  the 
wished-for  indication  is  found,  it  is  hastily  read,  and 
then  put  aside  for  more  careful  perusal;  others  are 
glanced  over  and  then  thrown  away. 

It  was  a  curious  sight  to  see  that  party  of  officers 
on  the  balcony  of  a  house  in  Groldsboro'  one  day  late 
in  March  of  1865.     The  army,  after  leaving  the  San- 


The  Sanctuaky.*  237 

tee  Eiver,  bad  made  the  marcli  to  Faj^etteville,  had 
fought  two  pitched  battles,  and  now  had  arrived  at 
the  objective  point  of  the  grand  campaign  of  the 
Carolinas.  Although  all  of  the  dramatis  personce 
who  w^ere  presented  to  the  reader  in  the  opening 
chapter  of  this  story  had  taken  active  part  in  these 
eventful  scenes,  yet  none  had  been  killed  or  serious- 
ly wounded,  and  here  they  w^ere  again,  after  travers- 
ing hundreds  of  miles,  safely  reunited,  and  each  in- 
tent upon  gathering  up  those  varied  threads,  some 
two  months'  broken,  which  bind  the  soldier  to  home 
and  friends. 

It  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  moments  for  Horton 
to  run  over  the  handful  of  letters  which  came  to 
him.  From  them  he  gathered  a  resume  of  the  most 
important  events  that  had  occurred  within  the  radius 
of  his  home  circle.  His  father  and  mother  were 
well,  but  each  line  of  their  letters  was  laden  with 
anxiety. 

"Dear  mother,"  he  wrote  in  reply,  "do  not  make 
yourself  unhappy  about  me.  I  have  good  food  and 
drink,  am  well,  and  more  than  contented.  There  is 
not  half  the  danger  you  imagine  in  campaigning, 
and,  so  far  as  my  personal  feelings  are  concerned,  I 
never  felt  more  secure  against  harm  than  when  in 
the  presence  of  this  great  army." 


238  *  The  Sanctuary. 

The  effort  of  writing  these  words  cost  him  severe 
physical  torture,  for,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  his 
surgeon,  he  had  performed  the  same  active  duties  in 
the  field,  day  and  night,  as  if  he  had  never  received 
the  blow  from  the  sword  of  the  rebel  general.  By 
means  of  exposure  and  fatigue,  an  abscess  had  form- 
ed, with  aggravated  inflammation,  and  it  had  been  a 
subject  of  serious  discussion  among  the  surgeons 
whether  or  not  an  amputation  should  be  performed. 
But  Horton  was  utterly  unmindful  of  arm  or  abscess 
in  the  perusal  of  his  friend  Blauvelt's  letters,  and  he 
was  not  a  little  surprised  when  he  read, 

"  Why  did  you  not  write  me  from  Savannah.?  If 
you  received  my  letters  directed  to  you  at  that  place, 
I  am  sure  you  would  have  replied." 

Horton  thought  for  a  moment.  "I  did  answer 
his  letter.     Is  it  possible  that  it  miscarried?" 

He  did  not  know  that  he  had  directed  Blauvelt's 
letter  to  Kate  Noble. 

"No  matter,  my  dear  soldier  boj^,"  the  letter  con- 
tinued, "your  affair  goes  well.  I  say  'affair,'  because 
I  am  now  sure  that  there  has  been  some  understand- 
ing between  Gray  and  Miss  Noble  which  concerned 
3^ou.  For  some  purpose,  the  secret  of  whicb  I  have 
not  yet  solved,  Gray  is  persistent  in  his  injurious  al- 
lusions to  you.     He  never  makes  definite  charges. 


The  Sanctuary.  239 

but  deals  in  the  most  biting  sarcasms.  lie  lias  an 
astonishing  talent  for  insinuating  a  mean  thing,  with- 
out saying  it  outright.  There  is  no  tangible  point 
which  you  can  take  hold  of.  For  example,  he  re- 
marked in  the  presence  of  Kate  Noble  (we  were  all 
out  at  Jamaica  Plains,  at  Hale's,  the  artist's ;  the  occa- 
sion was  a  mnsicale), '  they  say  that  Horton  has  been 
breveted  major  and  colonel.  Isn't  it  singular  that, 
after  four  years'  service,  he  has  not  been  wounded  ? 
It  is  his  good  luck,  I  suppose.' 

"  There  was  an  unmistakable  sneer  in  the  closing 
remark,  which  grated  harshly  on  the  ear  of  us  all. 
In  a  flash  Kate  Noble  answered, 

"  •  It  was  true  manliness  which  took  Captain  Hor- 
ton to  the  war.  He  will  perform  his  whole  duty, 
wherever  it  requires  him  to  go.  As  to  the  soldier's 
chances  of  good  or  bad  fortune,  you,  Mr.  Gray,  are 
hardly  capable  of  judging.' 

"Wasn't  that  splendid?  You  should  have  seen 
the  blood  as  it  rushed  to  her  cheek,  whose  peculiar 
color  was  like  that  of  a  ripe  peach  in  a  basket  of 
white  roses,  while  her  full  blue  eyes  gazed  steadily 
and  fearlessly  at  the  unabashed  yet  somewhat  aston- 
ished Mr.  Gray. 

"For  once  Gray's  lips  were  silent,  for  he  evidently 
was  unprepared  and  surprised  at  her  reply,  although 


2^0  The  Saxctuary. 

there  •svas  a  sinister  expression  in  his  ej'es  which  I 
can  only  describe  as  diabolical.  Meanwhile  Miss 
Kate,  in  answer  to  a  request  from  Dressell,  joined 
him  at  the  piano  in  an  artistic  rendering  of  one  of 
Schuman's  duets. 

"Since  that  incident,  which  occurred  some  six 
weeks  ago,  Gray  has  been  more  guarded  in  what  he 
saj's.  For  my  part,  I  was  astonished  at  the  readiness 
of  Kate  Xoble's  reply.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  pre- 
pared herself  for  it — as  if  she  had  had  some  warning 
of  Gray's  intention  and  motives.  Any  wa}^,  it  was  a 
crusher. 

"  I  suppose,  now  that  Sherman  has  planted  his 
army  of  veterans  on  Lee's  flank,  we  shall  have  more 
large,  but,  I  hope,  decisive  battles.  Take  good  care 
of  that  precious  body  of  yours.  Of  all  your  friends 
here,  no  one  will  be  more  glad  to  take  you  by  the 
hand  than  your  old  comrade  of  the  palette,  brush, 
and  sword,  Blauvelt." 

"How  like  Kate  Xoble,"  thought  Horton,  as  he 
finished  the  letter,  and  imagined  the  scene  described 
by  his  friend  Blauvelt.  "  Why  have  I  ever  submit- 
ted myself  to  these  stupid  forebodings,  so  untrue  of 
Kate,  SQ  unworthy  myself?"  And  Horton,  collect- 
ing together  his  letters  and  newspapers,  crossed  the 


The  Sanctuary.  241 

piazza  toward  Major  Dalton  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  he  had  known  these  many  years.  There  was  a 
star  in  the  east  which  to  his  eyes  glowed  with  ex- 
ceeding brightness  just  then. 

"Why,  Dalton,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  look  as  sol- 
emn as  a  Shawnee  Indian.  You  have  not  received 
bad  news,  I  hope  ?  Your  father  and  mother,  are  they 
well?"  he  continued,  more  seriously,  as  he  noticed«m 
open  letter  in  his  friend's  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Horton,  they  are  all  well  at  home; 
but  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Bright,  at  Sa- 
vannah, which  alarms  me.  She  writes  that  at  the 
time  I  was  up  the  river.  Miss  Saumur  left  the  city 
and  went  North  in  a  New  York  steamer.  Where  or 
to  whom  she  is  gone  Mrs.  Bright  does  not  seem  to 
know.  I  have  no  fear  for  Agnes's  safety,  for  she 
has  cousins  who  live  on  the  Hudson  Eiver,  a  short 
distance  from  New  York  City.  She  has  gone  there, 
I  suppose,  where  she  will  be  warmly  welcomed,  and 
find  a  home." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  answered  Horton,  "that  you 
should  be  rejoiced  that  she  has  escaped  from  Savan- 
nah. With  her  earnest  devotion  to  our  cause,  she 
could  not  have  remained  there  without  discomfort 
and  annoyance.  You  are  nearer  to  New  York,  my 
dear  fellow,  than  to  Savanrmh." 

L 


242  The  Sanctuary. 

"That  is  all  true,  Horton.  I  am  not  disturbed 
that  she  has  gone  North,  but  because  she  supposed  I 
would  return  to  Savannah  before  we  started  on  this 
last  campaign.  It  was  to  escape  me — 'to  fly  from 
herself,'  were  her  parting  words ;  that  thought  stings 
me — the  fear  that  I  may  lose  her  after  all  these  trials. 
She  may  give  me  up ;  she  may  banish  me  from  her 
mind  more  effectually  than  I  did  my  love  for  her 
until  the  day  we  met  her  on  the  public  street  three 
months  ago." 

There  is  just  this  difference  between  you  and  Miss 
Saumur.  You  are  a  man,  and  she  is  a  woiiian.  I 
admit  that  if  she  were  to  act  by  the  code  which  a 
heartless  world  has  set  up  for  us,  you  might  never 
see  her  again ;  but  she  has  proven  herself  to  be  one 
of  those  great  souls  which  rarely  visit  this  earth. 
More  than  all  this,  she  loves  you  as  few  of  us  de- 
serve to  be  loved,  and  that  word  "love" — Horton's 
mind's  eye  at  this  moment  was  filled  with  a  vision 
of  golden  hair,  red  cheeks,  and  blue  eyes — will  over- 
come greater  difficulties  than  could  this  grand  army, 
with  Sherman  at  its  head." 

"  Your  kind  words  are  full  of  encouragement, 
Horton.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had  more  of  your  en- 
thusiastic, sanguine  temperament." 

"You  must  remember,  major,  that  we  were  not 
born  in  the  same  latitude  by  several  degrees." 


XXXVIIL 

XT  was  in  the  last  days  of  May,  1865,  that  Dalton 
■^  and  Horton,  on  leave  of  absence,  were  enjoymg 
what  is  a  peculiar  sensation  for  those  who  for  years 
have  known  no  swifter  raeans  of  locomotion  than 
upon  horseback.  They  were  traveling  northward 
by  an  express  train,  which  sped  swiftly  over  the  iron 
rails,  but  not  too  quickly  for  our  furloughed  soldiers. 
The  war  was  ended,  and  with  peace  came  temporary 
release  from  duty.  Horton  and  Dalton  were  both 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  colonel  by  brevet.  The 
two  of&cers  were  accompanied  by  Zimri,  who,  since 
the  night  of  the  cavalry  fight,  had  been  the  insepara- 
ble attendant  of  Horton.  Harold  was  also  one  of 
the  party.  Upon  the  arrival  of  the  army  at  Grolds- 
boro',  Dalton  had  at  once  telegraphed  to  his  parents 
the  good  news  of  the  discovery  of  the  son  and  broth- 
er, who,  by  the  way,  would  not  now  have  been  rec- 
ognized as  the  ragged,  sickly  rebel  prisoner  whom 


244  The  Sanctuary. 

we  saw  on  the  banks  of  tlie  Santee.  The  two  broth- 
ers expected  to  find  their  parents  at  Is'ew  York, 
which  had  been  appointed  as  a  place  of  rendezvous. 
For  Dalton  the  great  metropolis  had  a  yet  more 
thrilling  interest;  for,  although  he  had  received  no 
token  of  Agnes  Saumur  since  the  letter  from  Mrs. 
Bright,  yet  he  did  not  permit  himself  for  a  moment 
to  doubt  but  what  he  should  find  her  again ;  and 
then — but  beyond  that  he  dared  not  even  hope. 

We  will  leave  the  two  brothers  for  the  present, 
and  follow  Horton  as  he  enters  the  city  of  his  birth 
and  manhood's  early  days.  His  first  duty  was  to 
his  good  old  father  and  fond  mother,  proud  of  their 
noble  son.  Their  tears  of  sacred  joy,  the  thankful 
prayer  mingled  with  tears,  may  not  be  intruded 
upon  here.  Only  those  whose  days  and  nights  for 
long  years  have  been  passed  in  heart-aching  fears 
and  hopes,  who  with  fainting  heart  read  each  battle- 
list  of  wounded  and  slain,  can  know  the  inexpressi- 
ble gladness  when  the  absent  one  returns  to  their 
arms  again. 

The  well-remembered  bell  of  the  old  South  Church 
tolled  nine  o'clock  as  Horton  took  the  road  to  the 
residence  of  Kate  Noble.  The  sound  brought  back 
a  thousand  recollections  of  childhood's  days,  of  hap- 
py hours,  whose  good  angel  was  the  woman  he  had 


The  Sanctuary.  245 

loved  with  a  singleness  of  purpose  second  only  to 
his  devotion  to  the  cause  for  which  he  had  offered 
his  life  upon  many  a  battle-field.  As  he  passed 
along,  his  mind  was  filled  with  thronging,  contend- 
ing emotions,  which  he  in  vain  attempted  to  analyze. 
While  he  was  at  the  war,  in  spite  of  all  his  doubts 
and  forebodings,  he  reveled  in  the  wildest,  most  il- 
limitable anticipations  of  future  happiness  when  he 
should  again  see  Kate  Noble.  Now  that  he  had  ar- 
rived at  the  point  where  his  destiny  was  to  be  de- 
cided, he  hesitated,  and  a  disheartening  timidity 
crept  over  him.  He  had  seen  soldiers  who  were 
very  brave  until  they  came  within  reach  of  the  ene- 
my's shot  and  shell,  when  they  suddenly  discovered 
that  there  were  obstacles  in  the  way  between  them 
and  the  fortification  to  be  carried.  These  men  were 
not  afraid,  but  they  lost  heart  sometimes. 

But  Horton  was  pressed  forward  by  an  incentive 
as  powerful  as  that  which  ever  animated  his  com- 
rades upon  the  battle-field. 

At  the  first  thought_there  may  not  seem  to  be  any 
analogy  between  love  and  war;  but  they  resemble 
each  other  in  this,  that  in  both  the  grandest  possibili- 
ties of  human  nature  are  called  into  action,  although 
in  love,  especially  with  women,  the  desperate  strug- 
gle comes  when  the  grand  passion  demands  the  utter 
subordination  of  the  personality  to  its  decree. 


XXXIX. 


''  "I /TISS  KATE  is  out,  but  will  return  presently," 
•^^-^  was  the  reply  to  his  call. 

''You  do  not  recognize  me,  William?"  he  said  to 
the  gray -haired  major-domo,  who  had  been  in  the 
service  of  the  Is'oble  family  long  before  Kate  was 
born. 

"  Walk  in,  sir — come  in.  Why,  God  bless  my 
soul !  yes,  it  is  Mr.  Horton.  Indeed,  we  are  glad  to 
welcome  you  home,  sir.  You've  grown  older,  sir. 
You  have  been  wounded,  haven't  you  ?  Your  arm 
is  in  a  sling.  Nothing  serious,  I  hope.  We  have 
not  heard  you  were  wounded.  Come  into  the  libra- 
ry, Mr.  Horton  —  Colonel,  I  mean.  We  saw  your 
promotion  in  the  papers.  Miss  Kate  will  be  glad  to 
see  you,  and  so  will  Mr.  Xoble.  He  talked  a  deal 
about  you,  sir ;  is  rather  proud  of  his  protege — that's 
what  he  calls  you.  Sit  in  the  big  chair,  colonel. 
There  are  the  papers.     Indeed,  you  are  looking  fine- 


The  Sanctuary.  247 

ly,  sir,"  and  the  garrulous,  good-natured  old  man 
would  have  run  on  to  an  indefinite  extent,  but  Hor- 
ton  arrested  the  flow  of  kind  words. 

"  Thank  you,  William,  I  am  well  otherwise  than 
the  arm,  which  might  be  worse,  and  glad  to  get 
home  again.  I  won't  detain  you.  Oh,  William,  if 
any  one  returns  with  Miss  Kate,  please  not  say  that 
I  have  arrived.  They  won't  be  likely  to  come  in 
here,  and  I  don't  care  to  see  strangers  to-night." 

"  I'll  remember,  colonel"  (the  old  man  dwelt  upon 
the  title);  "but  you  are  the  last  gentleman  we  ex- 
pected to  see.  It  looks  like  old  times  to  see  your 
face,"  and  the  old  man  left  the  room. 

In  order  the  better  to  understand  the  events  which 
subsequently  occurred,  it  is  necessary  to  describe  the 
situation.  The  big  arm-chair  in  which  Horton  was 
enveloped  was  placed  in  a  large  alcove  of  the  library, 
which  was  also  a  bay-window  looking  out  upon  a 
garden  attached  to  the  house.  This  was  Kate's  fa- 
vorite seat,  as  it  was  of  any  one  who  ever  received 
its  capacious  embraces.  The  library  was  one  of  a 
suite  of  rooms  upon  the  ground  floor  of  the  building. 
In  the  rear  was  the  dining-room.  The  front  apart- 
ment, looking  upon  the  street,  was  used  as  a  recep- 
tion-room. 

Horton  had  hardly  renewed  his  acquaintance  with 


248  The   Sanctuary. 

the  old  arm-chair,  when  the  hall  door  opened,  and  he 
could  hear  Kate's  rich,  full  voice,  whose  tones  thrill- 
ed him  with  a  restful  gladness,  the  joj  of  compensa- 
tion, a  reward  only  those  know  who  have  loved  and 
waited. 

"  Come  in,  Louise,  and  I  will  give  you  that  duet, 
which  you  can  practice  at  your  leisure." 

Horton  recalled  to  mind  that  Louise  Gray,  the  sis- 
ter of  his  former  friend,  was  the  intimate  friend  of 
Kate.  She  was  a  girl  of  a  simple,  unpretending  na- 
ture, but  truthful  and  conscientious.  These  endear- 
ing qualities,  and  an  ardent  passion  for  music,  had 
brought  about  between  the  two  girls  a  close  inti- 
macy. But  Horton  was  not  so  well  pleased  when 
he  heard  the  voice  of  Gra}^  in  response. 

"  Kun  in,  Louise ;  it  is  early  in  the  evening,  and 
we  can  wait  until  Miss  Kate  finds  the  music." 

Horton,  from  his  alcove,  could  hear  distinctly  ev- 
ery word  of  the  conversation.  While  he  was  entire- 
ly concealed  from  view,  he  could  follow  every  move- 
ment of  Kate  as  she  laid  aside  her  hat  and  cloak. 
He  could  hear  Gray  move  a  chair  to  the  fire ;  and 
when  he  sat  down,  Horton's  impulse  was  at  once  to 
rise  and  reveal  himself;  but  a  reluctance,  which  was 
proper  and  natural,  to  exchange  the  first  greetings 
with  Kate  in  another's  presence,  and,  of  all  persons, 


The  Sanctuary.  249 

this  man  Gray — this  repugnance  held  him  to  his  seat. 
He  might  have  acted  otherwise  could  he  have  antici- 
pated what  was  to  follow. 

"A  pleasant  concert  we  had  this  evening,"  said 
Gray. 

"Yes,"  answered  Kate,  ''it  was  pleasant.  But  I 
was  not  in  a  mood  for  musical  enjoyment  to-night. 
The  glorious  news  of  the  surrender  of  Johnston's 
army,  and  the  certainty  that  peace  is  once  more  to 
bless  the  land,  filled  up  all  my  enjoyable  powers." 

"Yes,  it  is  gratifying.  I  suppose  we  shall  be 
overrun  with  shoulder-straps  in  a  few  days,"  replied 
Gray. 

"  They  will  be  glad  to  come  home  after  their  hard- 
ships and  dangers,"  replied  Kate,  "and  welcome 
comers  they  will  be.  I  never  see  one  of  the  com- 
monest looking  soldiers  that  I  am  not  inspired  with 
the  deepest  feelings  of  respect  and  admiration  for 
what  they  have  dared  and  suffered  for  the  cause  of 
liberty." 

•  At  that   moment    Horton   would   not  have    ex- 
changed his  uniform  for  an  emperor's  robes. 

"You  were  always  romantic,  Miss  Kate,"  said 
Gray.  "For  my  part,  I  am  tired  of  these  bars,  and 
eagles,  and  stars." 

As  she  handed  Louise  the  roll  of  music,  there  was 
L2 


250  The   Sanctuary. 

a  malicious,  defiant  look  in  Kate's  eyes  which  would 
have  silenced  a  man  of  less  assurance  than  Gray. 
His  first  remark  had  excited  her  indignation,  as  she 
knew  he  intended  it  should,  and  she  had  resolved 
not  to  give  him  any  advantage  of  the  kind. 

"I  do  not  understand  why  these  insignia  of  honor 
should  annoy  you  so  mnch.  Surely  3'our  shoulders 
have  never  been  burdened  with  them." 

Kate's  answer  went  home  to  the  weakest  spot  of 
Gray's .  mental  diaphragm,  and  it  was  made  with  a 
coolness  and  determination  which  completely  broke 
down  his  guard.  A  black  cloud  passed  over  his  face 
as  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  stared  Kate  full  in  the 
eyes. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  looking  for  Horton's  arrival 
in  a  few  days  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Kate,  calmly,  "and  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  him  when  he  does  return." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Gray  advanced  to  where  Kate  stood. 

"  Miss  Kate,  I  have  told  you  again  and  again  that 
Horton  is  not  worthy  of  any  woman's  love.  I  have 
given  you  proofs  of  his  weakness.  He  is  not  capa- 
ble of  love.     I  supposed  you  were  satisfied  of  this." 

"  Oh,  Henry,"  interrupted  his  sister,  "  you  have  no 
right  to  speak  so  unkindly  of  Mr.  Horton." 


The  Sanctuary.  251 

"Louise,"  answered  Gray,  impatiently,  "I  won't 
permit  you  to  interfere  in  this  matter.  You  know, 
and  Kate  understands,  that  I  am  her  best  friend,  and 
only  speak  for  her  good." 

"  Mr.  Gray,  I  did  once  believe  that  you  were  my 
friend,  but  you  pretended  to  be  the  friend  of  Captain 
Horton.  Heretofore  I  listened  to  you,  but  I  never 
for  one  instant  lost  faith  in  him.  For  some  reason 
which  I  can  not  explain,  you  have  sought  to  degrade 
him  in  my  eyes.  Thank  Heaven  you  did  not  suc- 
ceed. I  know  him  to  be  a  true-hearted,  brave  gen- 
tleman. It  was  shameful  of  you  to  slander  a  man 
whom  you  should  have  defended  instead  of  abused. 
I  will  not  listen  to  you  again.  You  never  had  the 
right  to  speak  to  me — to  "  warn  me,"  as  you  term  it. 
It  was  a  presumption  which  never  was  justifiable, 
even  by  the  association  which  brought  us  together, 
through  my  love  for  Louise.  I  should  have  resented 
it  long  ago." 

Kate  did  not  dare  to  charge  Gray  with  the  real 
motives  which  she  suspected  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  dislike  of  Horton.  It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  a  wom- 
an is  not  conscious  when  a  man  loves  her.  While 
Gray  had  proffered  the  most  disinterested  friendship, 
which  for  years  had  taken  form  in  kindly  attentions, 
yet  her  intuitions  told  her  that  all  the  while  a  deeper 


252  The  Sanctuary. 

feeling  lay  beneath,  which  Gray  would  have  called 
love,  and  that  he  only  waited  the  lightest  word  or 
look  from  her  to  give  it  breath.  That  encourage- 
ment she  had  never  given,  never  could  give,  for  an 
irresistible  aversion  had  taken  the  place  of  her  old- 
time  friendship  for  him,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  love  she  bore  Louise,  she  would  long  since  have 
freed  herself  from  a  relation  which  was  fruitful  only 
of  pain  and  chagrin. 

If  Horton  had  at  first  been  reluctant  to  meet  Kate 
in  the  presence  of  others,  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion had  now  rendered  it  impossible.  The  situation 
was  especially  painful  to  him,  who  hated  any  word 
or  act  which  savored  of  concealment;  but  here  he 
was,  fixed  in  this  easy-chair,  which  had  now  become 
a  seat  of  thorns.  Meanwhile  Louise  had  walked  out 
into  the  hall,  calling  to  her  brother, 

"  Henry,  I  beg  of  you  to  come  home.  We  have 
staid  too  long  already." 

"I  will  follow  you  in  a  moment,"  was  the  answer, 
and  then  Horton  could  hear  the  low,  but  clear-sound- 
ing words  which  followed,  in  a  tone  of  threatening 
and  of  accusation, 

"  Kate  Noble,  I  believe  you  love  Horton." 

The  colonel  half  started  to  his  feet.  In  the  im- 
pulse of  his  honest  indignation,  under  any  circum- 


•And  then  Horton.  from  the  darkness  of  the  library,  entered  into  the  full  light  of 
the  reopption-room." 


The   Sanctuary.  255 

stances  he  would  'have  resented  this  shameful  out- 
rage upon  every  sense  of  womanly  delicacy  and  man- 
ly honor,  but  he  sank  back  in  his  seat  as  Kate's  dig- 
nified answer  came  forth,  quick  and  strong :. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  this,  whether  or  not  it 
be  true.  You  have  violated  all  sense  of  manliness. 
It  was  cowardly.  Leave  me,  Mr.  Gray,  and  never 
speak  to  me  again." 

There  was  no  appeal  from  this  decree,  for  Kate 
stood  there  with  burning  eyes  fixed  upon  the  false 
friend  and  would-be  lover  until,  abashed  and  con- 
demned, he  slunk  away  out  of  the  room  and  out  of 
the  house. 

And  then  Horton,  from  the  darkness  of  the  libra- 
ry, entered  into  the  full  light  of  the  reception-room. 
Kate  was  standing  by  the  mantle,  her  head  gently 
inclined  forward  as  she  gazed  into  the  fire.  Her  in- 
dignation had  already  given  place  to  another  and 
more  pensive  mood.  The  sound  of  footsteps  aroused 
her,  and  she  turned,  startled  and  almost  alarmed,  to 
see  the  figure  of  Horton,  who  had  halted  midway  in 
the  room,  unable  to  speak,  unable  tamove  farther. 

To  Kate  there  was  something  strange  in  that  erect, 
soldierly  form,  that  face  bronzed  by  exposure.  In 
the  close-cut  hair,  the  drooping  mustache,  and  long 
imperial,  she  did  not  for  the  moment  recognize  the 


256  The   Sanctuary. 

light  form  and  ruddy  face  which'  had  bid  her  adieu 
years  ago,  and  which  had  been  enshrined  in  her 
heart.  It  was  a  deity  she  had  worshiped  with  all 
the  devotion  of  a  nature  which  was  all  the  more 
beautiful  in  its  romantic  enthusiasm  because  se- 
cluded and  repelled  by  the  cynical  conventionalities 
of  the  society  about  her. 

If  Kate  was  confused  for  an  instant  by  this  sudden 
appearance — if  Time  and  War's  rough  hand  had 
wrought  such  changes  in  Horton's  exterior,  the  de- 
ception was  but  for  an  instant,  for  the  soldier-lovers 
eyes  were  speaking  more  eloquently  than  could 
tongue  of  silver,  and  then,  like  some  full  orchestral 
strain  of  heavenly  music,  the  truth  entered  into  her 
heart  and  soul.  The  hero  of  her  day-dreams  and  vi- 
sions of  the  night  had  come  back ;  he  stood  before 
her.  In  these  imaginings  she  had  pictured  this  hour 
of  meeting,  and  how  quietly  she  would  receive  him. 
She  would  test  his  love.  But,  in  the  first  impulse  of 
gladness,  she  forgot  all  these  resolutions  of  maidenly 
reserve.  The  pathetic  appeal  of  the  wounded  arm 
resting  in  its  sling,  the  earnest,  magnetic  brown  eyes, 
love-beseeching,  broke  down  all  barriers.  With  a 
passionate  trembling,  which  vibrated  through  heart 
and  body,  she  stretched  forth  her  arms  in  mute  wel- 
come.    In  a  moment  Kate,  without  well  knowing 


The  Sanctuary.  257 

how  it  came  about,  found  her  head  resting  upon  his 
shoulder ;  his  arm  encircled  her,  holding  her  throb- 
bing heart  close  to  his ;  his  lips  pressed  to  hers  with 
passionate  fervor,  with  that  inexpressible  tenderness 
which  has  no  arriere  pensee — that  first  kiss  when  two 
souls,  in  the  fullness  of  long  waiting,  take  possession 
of  each  other. 

"  My  heart  has  not  deceived  me  then,  Kate,  during 
these  long  years  of  absence?" 

"I  can  not  remember  when  I  did  not  love  you, 
Alfred,  but  I  never  was  so  gladly  assured  of  your 
love  as  when  I  received  a  letter  which  you  wrote  at 
Savannah,  and  evidently  misdirected  to  me." 

Horton  at  once  remembered  his  blunder,  and  now 
understood  the  meaning  of  Blauvelt's  letter  which  he 
had  received  at  Goldsboro'. 

"I  do  not  regret  that  you  received  the  letter  in- 
tended for  Blauvelt,  although  it  was  written  in  the 
anger  of  my  pride — the  pride  of  loving,  Kate.  You 
have  been  my  good  angel,  darling,  from  the  first. 
My  hopes,  my  faith,  were  centred  in  you.  The  pains, 
the  dangers,  the  glories  of  my  soldier-life  are  crown- 
ed by  the  bliss  of  this  possession,"  and  Horton  kissed 
away  the  tears  of  joy  which  filled  Kate's  eyes. 

"  I  am  very  happy,  Alfred — happier  than  the  hap- 
piest ;  for" — she  hesitated  a  little,  while  there  was  a 


268  The  Sanctuary. 

rebellious  twinkle  in  her  bright  eyes — "  at  one  time 
I  had  reason  to  believe  you  unfaithful,  and — " 

"I  was  an  unintentional  listener,  Kate,  to 'the 
treacherous  declarations  of  that  man  Gray.  But  an- 
ger, darling,  can  not  enter  this  heaven.  We  will  for- 
give, if  we  can  not  forget  his  baseness.  I  have  won 
honor  and  fame,  Kate,  but  until  this  moment  I  have 
never  prized  these  laurels,  for  now  I  can  wreath 
them  among  these  golden  tresses,"  and  he  passed  his 
hand  gently  through  the  luxurious  mass  of  flowing 
hair. 


XL. 

THE  afternoon  of  the  arrival  in  New  York  of 
Major  Dalton  and  his  brother  was  spent  in  a  re- 
union of  the  family.  A  warm  greeting  did  they  re- 
ceive. Harold  could  scarcely  recognize  in  the  ele- 
gant young  lady  who  wound  her  arms  about  his 
neck  his  little  sister  Kelly.  A  happy  meeting  was 
this,  where  no  cloud  of  misfortune  cast  its  saddening 
shadow.  How  many  similar  scenes  might  have  been 
witnessed  in  those  days  when  the  triple  wall  of  prej- 
udice, hate,  and  armed  resistance  was  thrown  down, 
and  the  North  and  the  South  were  no  longer  the 
North  and  the  South,  but  one  common  country ! 

Dalton  had  not  yet  received  any  tidings  of  Agnes. 
This  much  he  knew,  that  her  cousins,  the  Marcys, 
usually  passed  but  a  few  weeks  of  the  winter  season 
in  town,  and  that  their  country  place  was  situated 
not  far  from  a  village  on  the  Hudson  Eiver. 

It  was  too  late  to  attempt  to  go  up  the  river  that 


260  The  Sanctuary. 

day.  Dalton  was  restive  and  ill  at  ease.  He  could 
not  curb  the  impatience  of  his  reawakened  love, 
which  every  hour,  more  and  more  loudly  demanded 
justification.  To  see  Agnes — to  prove  to  her  that  he 
had  never  lost  his  love  for  her — that  his  coldness  at 
Savannah  was  but  a  natural  exhaustion  after  four 
years  of  war's  excitement — to  show  her  that  he  loved 
her  with  all  the  fervor  and  truth  which  her  grand 
nature  demanded  —  this  was  the  burden  of  his 
thoughts. 

It  was  after  nightfall,  when  walking  up  and  down 
the  streets  of  the  city,  that  these  and  a  thousand 
suggestions  and  plans  came  jostling  tumultuously 
"^through  his  mind.  As  he  passed  along,  a  poster  in- 
formed him  that  the  opera  of  the  "Huguenots"  was 
to  be  performed  that  night.  Here  was  food — distrac- 
tion for  the  moment,  at  least. 

As  Dalton  settled  himself  into  his  seat  in  the  par- 
quette,  the  house  commenced  to  fill.  From  his  place 
at  the  end  of  the  dress-circle,  and  between  that  and 
the  stage-boxes,  he  could  see  the  crowd  of  people  as 
they  came  in  by  one  and  another  entrance.  A  novel 
sight  it  was  to  him.  Beautiful  women,  in  all  the 
glory  of  their  womanhood,  decked  in  brilliant  toilets, 
fluttered  to  their  places  like  rose-leaves  deflowered 
by  the  summer  wind.     Like  a  garden  full  of  pink, 


The  Sanctuary.  261 

and  violet,  and  crimson  flowers  were  they,  and  set  in 
frames  of  white  and  gold.  First,  the  parterre  blos- 
somed out  a  bed  of  lilies,  fuchsias,  and  carnations. 
Here  a  knot  of  volatile  French  people  are  wonder- 
fully busy  talking ;  behind  him  sits  three  Cubans, 
olive-skinned,  dark-eyed ;  a  German,  with  his  wife, 
has  obtained  a  place  near  the  stage ;  English,  Irish, 
and  Italian — all  nations  of  the  earth  are  represented 
here.  On  the  other  side  of  the  aisle  a  young  girl 
makes  room  for  her  lover  to  pass,  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  undisguised  delight.  That  look  means  noth- 
ing else  than  love,  and  he  answers  it  with  a  smile. 

Eespectable  old  gentlemen,  with  aged  companions, 
sink  into  their  fauteuils,  not  to  rise  again  until  the 
end  of  the  performance.  A  platoon  of  country,  peo- 
ple file  into  the  seats  in  front.  The  leader  of  the 
squad  has  a  clerical  air,  and  looks  about  with  a 
guilty  manner,  as  if  he  feared  the  eye  of  some  stern 
parishioner  was  upon  him.  But  a  sense  of  duty  sus- 
tains him  and  his  fellows.  They  must  know  by  ex- 
perience against  what  sins  to  warn  their  flock. 

A  party  of  children  rush  into  one  of  the  upper 
boxes,  perching  upon  the  balustrade,  chirping  ^nd 
twittering  like  gay  birds  in  the  sunshine.  And  now 
the  orchestra  comes  tumbling  in,  or  up  rather,  out 
from  a  hole  under  the  stage.     They  are  the  artillery 


262  The  Sanctuary. 

of  the  corps  dramatique,  and  as  they  wander  to  their 
places,  in  and  out  among  harps,  and  drums,  and  mu- 
sic-stands, they  stare  out  across  the  sea  of  human 
faces  and  up  into  the  galleries,  as  a  sailor,  when  he 
first  comes  on  deck,  takes  a  look  at  the  tossing  wa- 
ters and  cloud-flecked  sky,  to  see  what  the  signs  of 
the  weather  are. 

The  second  tier  of  boxes  are  now  slowly  filling  up 
with  the  beau  monde — the  later  comers.  A  fine  dis- 
play they  make  in  silks,  and  satins,  and  costly  pa- 
rures.  And  now  the  stragglers  of  this  army  are  gath- 
ering on  the  flank  and  rear  of  the  camp,  content  with 
such  resting-place  as  their  feet  may  find,  provided 
always  they  are  in  at  the  feast  of  sight  and  sound. 

The  amphitheatre,  that  refuge  of  moneyless  critics, 
has  a  long  time  been  filled.  Indeed,  the  vast  interior 
of  this  grandest  opera-house  of  all  the  world  is  sur- 
charged and  o'ertopped  with  a  smiling,  murmuring 
mass  of  humanity. 

One  of  the  jeunesse  doree^  perfumed  and  polished, 
dances  to  a  seat  by  the  side  of  the  stern  young  sol- 
dier. With  lavender-gloved  hand  he  gently  pats  his 
delicate  whiskers,  while  a  simpering  smile  of  con- 
scious irresistibility  flickers  faintly  over  his  insipid 
features  as  he  stares  into  the  box  near  by.  A  lady 
has  entered  there,  startled,  and  with  a  glad  look  in 


The  Sanctuary.  263 

"her  face.  She  stands  gazing — the  dandy  thinks  at 
him. 

Exceedingly  beautiful  she  is.  A  figure  erect  and 
queenly,  with  wondrous  grace  and  dignity.  A  dress 
of  pearl-gray  silk  fits  close  to  her  form.  A  trimming 
of  delicate  lace  borders  the  neck  and  sleeve.  There 
are  no  diamonds  nor  gems  about  her.  She  needs 
none. 

The  head  rests  gracefully  upon  her  faultless  neck. 
The  skin  is  a  rich  brunette,  and  the  mass  of  wavy 
dark  hair  is  relieved  by  a  single  flower  —  a  rose 
just  bursting  into  blossom.  The  eyes  are  large,  and 
of  that  luminous  black,  from  whose  unfathomable 
depths  there  plays  a  soft,  mysterious  light.  The 
forehead  is  uneven,  with  arched  brows,  which  lends 
a  grace  to  the  oval  outline  of  the  face.  The  chin  is 
finely  rounded,  but  firm,  and  just  now  the  finely-cut 
lips  are  parted^  as  if  about  to  speak. 

A  murmur  of  admiration  wanders  over  the  par- 
quette.  The  habitues  ask  one  another.  Who  is  this 
new-comer?  Lorgnettes  from  every  part  of  the 
house,  even  in  feminine  hands,  are  leveled  at  her  as 
she  stands  there,  all  unconscious  of  this  homage  paid 
to  beauty,  for  her  eyes,  now  grown  preternaturally 
bright,  are  fixed  upon  Dalton.  The  major,  in  dreamy 
listlessness,  is  gazing  at  the  throng. 


26^  The  Sanctuary. 

"  Cousin  Agnes,"  said  a  lady  who  had  advanced 
into  the  box,  "  are  you  aware  you  have  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  audience?" 

A  flush  of  crimson  mounted  to  the  young  girl's 
face  as  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  she  quietly  took  the 
seat  which  was  offered  her. 

At  that  instant  Dal  ton  turned  his  head  to  ascertain 
the  cause  of  the  excitement  throughout  the  house, 
but  he  was  too  late.  He  could  only  see  a  small,  ele- 
gantly-gloved hand  resting  upon  the  cushion  of  the 
rail.  A  white  lace  shawl  falling  over  swept  his  face 
and  shoulder.  The  figure  of  its  owner  was  within 
reach  of  his  hand,  but  she  was  facing  the  stage,  and 
away  from  him.  An  indistinct  sound  of  voices 
reached  his  ear,  a  fragrance  filled  the  air  such  as 
he  had  known  before,  he  could  not  tell  where  nor 
when ;  yet  his  curiosity,  if  so  much  interest  had  been 
aroused  as  would  justify  the  use  of  the  word,  was 
very  soon  diverted,  for  the  chef  cf  orchestra  had  raised 
his  baton,  the  vast  audience  was  subsided  into  si- 
lence, and  then  those  sublime  harmonies  of  Meyer- 
beer's masterpiece  rose  and  fell,  now  filling  the  air 
with  bursts  of  martial  music,  now  sinking  into  gen- 
tlest melodies,  and  again  swelling  in  strains  of  relig- 
ious fervor. 

Major  Dalton  was  unable  to  observe  the  occupants 


The  Sanctuary.  265 

of  the  box  by  his  side,  but  Agnes  Saumur,  as  she  sat 
there,  could  see  reflected  in  the  mirror  on  the  oppo- 
site wall  every  expression  of  feeling,  every  light  and 
shade  of  thought  which,  animated  the  face  of  the 
man  whom,  at  that  moment,  she  loved  as  she  had 
never  loved  him  before — the  face  she  had  not  seen 
since  that  day  of  tearful  memories  on  the  river's  bank 
by  ber  mother's  grave.  In  the  long  years  of  loving, 
she  had  studied  every  line  and  every  character  of 
those  features,  until,  with  more  than  woman's  intui- 
tion, she  could  interpret  his  inmost  thought  and  mo- 
tive. To  her,  the  exterior  was  the  casting,  the  type 
from  the  mould  within.  The  story  it  told  her  only 
a  few  months  ago  was  mournful  proof  of  her  powers ; 
and  now  eagerly  did  she  gaze  into  that  countenance, 
manly  and  resolute  as  of  old,  yet  softened  and  gen- 
tler than  ever  before. 

Agnes  was  familiar  witb  the  music  of  the  Hugue- 
nots. The  story  was  one  that  touched  her  closely, 
for  her  ancestors  had  suffered  in  those  cruel  persecu- 
tions for  opinions'  sake.  Indeed,  many  of  them,  sur- 
vivors from  the  cowardly  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew, had  fled  to  America.  When  a  child,  seated 
upon  the  knee  of  her  grandfather,  she  had  listened 
with  bated  breath  to  legends  of  peril  and  death  to 
those  religious  martyrs. 

U 


266  The  Sanctuary. 

In  the  music  and  story  of  the  play  there  was  a 
romance,  a  unity,  and  grandeur  of  dramatic  power 
which  had  triple  force  this  night.  The  music  of 
Meyerbeer,  perhaps  more  than  any  other  dramatic 
composer,  tells  its  own  story;  and  Agnes  did  not 
care  to  witness  the  action,  of  the  singers ;  she  could 
revel  in  the  delight  of  seeing  with  Dalton's  eyes. 

This  was  no  magic  mirror  into  which  she  was  gaz- 
ing ;  no  conjuror's  wand  peopled  its  polished  surface, 
and  yet  it  all  seemed  like  a  phantasm,  a  dream. 

As  the  curtain  rose,  the  chorus  of  revelers  rang 
out  their  boisterous  bacchanalian  song,  and  then 
came  the  stern  old  Huguenot,  defiant  and  grand,  de- 
scribing the  skirmish,  the  musket-shot,  the  rush  of 
the  fight;  and  then,  as  some  lofty  monument  rears 
its  head  from  out  the  noise  and  littlenesses  of  the 
bustling  city,  so  the  Lutheran  chant  poured  forth  its 
sublime  protest  against  the  frivolities  of  the  godless 
wine-drinkers. 

And  Dalton's  kind  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure 
when  Miss  Phillips,  an  acquaintance  of  long  years, 
appeared  as  the  page.  The  very  embodiment  of 
grace  and  art,  she  trilled  forth,  in  rich  contralto 
tones,  the  merry  "  No,  no,  no." 

And  then  the  imposing  pageant  of  the  court,  with 
festooned   barge    and   blatant    trumpetings,    passed 


The  Sanctuary.  267 

away ;  and  when  the  concourse  of  cavaliers  and  fa- 
natic priests  raised  high  the  sword  and  cross,  and 
swore  the  assassin's  oath,  a  shock  of  pain  passed  over 
the  brave  soldier's  face.  He  had  felt  the  malign  in- 
fluence of  that  wicked  intolerance  which  reproduces 
itself  in  every  age  and  people.  Following  fast  in 
heavenly  contrast,  Valentine  sighs  forth  the  confes- 
sion of  love,  forced  from  her  in  fear  for  Kaoul's  safe- 
ty. In  all  the  world  of  art,  where  is  there  a  more 
perfect  picture  of  the  intense  abandon  of  love?  It 
has  been  immortalized  by  Millais's  inspired  pencil ; 
but  that  which  language,  nor  pen,  nor  pencil  can  ex- 
press, finds  utterance  in  this  incomparable  duet,  the 
triumph  of  nature,  the  sublimation  of  art. 

But  the  signal-bell  summons  Eaoul  from  love  to 
duty. 

How  keenly  did  the  patriot  Southerner  sympa- 
thize with  the  struggle  between  the  lover  and  the 
man.  As  Agnes  divined  his  thoughts,  a  pang  of  re- 
morse swept  over  her  with  the  memory  that  she  had 
deserted  him  in  his  hour  of  trial. 

"But  have  I  not  been  punished?"  she  asked  her- 
self.    "  Have  I  not  atoned  for  that  weakness?" 

But  no  thought  of  censure  entered  Dalton's  mind. 
Beneath  the  reserve  of  his  nature,  which  seemed  cold 
and  haughty  at  times,  there  were  all  the  generous 


268  The  Sanctuary. 

impulses,  the  keen  susceptibilities,  the  passionate 
emotions  of  the  Southern  race.  Kemoved  so  long 
from  the  esthetical  refinements  of  life,  an  actor  in 
the  rough,  stern  realities  where  men  make  history, 
and,  since  the  interview  with  Agnes  at  Savannahj 
pressed  forward  by  a  torrent  of  passionate  emotion, 
he  came  into  the  presence  of  this  divine  world  of 
sound  a  plastic  creature  of  love,  and  thus  he  opened 
his  heart  and  soul,  and  let  the  flood  of  music  flow 
in  and  take  possession  of  his  entire  being.  In  the 
story  of  the  Huguenots  there  was  so  much  of  his 
own  and  Agnes's  life  that  he  was  lost,  as  it  were,  in 
the  absorption  of  this  one  great  heart-passion.  And 
when  the  curtain  rose  upon  the  final  scene,  and  the 
two  lovers,  kneeling  in  the  presence  of  Death,  with 
exquisite  melody  sang  the  last  sad  song  of  love,  Dal- 
ton,  with  his  own  sad  longings,  could  bear  no  more, 
and  turned  his  moistened  eyes  from  the  scene.  And 
Agnes  at  the  same  instant,  animated  by  the  same 
emotion,  unmindful  of  the  place,  conscious  only  that 
Dalton  was  there,  that  he  sincerely  loved  her,  half 
rose  from  her  seat,  turned,  and  the  lovers  were  face 
to  face. 

"Agnes!" 

"David!" 

Electrified,  they  gazed  each  in  the  other's  eyes. 


The  Sanctuary. 


269 


In  the  moment  of  silence  whicli  followed,  tliere  was 
sanctified  between  David  Dalton  and  Agnes  Saumur 
that  perfect  marriage  of  the  soul,  all-comprehending, 
eternal. 

Amid  the  crashing  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and 
the  discharge  of  muskets,  Dalton  saw  Agnes,  and 
only  Agnes.     Her  voice  only  reached  his  ear — 

''  Bellevue,  to-morrow" — 
and  she  had  disappeared.     Dalton  wished  to  follow, 
but  the  curtain  had  fallen.     In  vain  did  he  search 
throusfh  the  crowd.     Asrnes  could  not  be  found. 


XLI. 

"  T^HE  road  is  a  crooked  one,  and  you  will  have 

-^  trouble  in  finding  Bellevue,"  said  the  rather 
solemn-looking  depot-master,  in  answer  to  Dalton's 
inquiry. 

"  What  is  the  general  direction  ?  If  j^ou  can  give 
me  that,  I  have  no  doubt  but  I  can  find  the  place." 

"Yes,  yes.    You  know  where  Dr,  Braxton  lives?" 

''  No ;  I  am  a  stranger  here." 

The  good  man  looked  curiously  at  the  half-mili- 
tary costume  of  his  questioner,  while  he  seemed  sur- 
prised that  any  one  could  be  a  stranger  in  Bellevue 
— to  him  it  was  all  the  world — and  that  so  intelligent 
a  man  as  Dalton  appeared  to  be  should  not  know 
where  the  famous  author  of  "Wealth  and  Its  Uses" 
resided.  After  a  moment  of  perplexed  thought,  he 
continued,  pointing  to  the  broken  line  of  hills  which 
rise  from  the  river's  bank  in  abrupt  but  picturesque 
form?. 


The  Sanctuary.  271 

''Do  you  see  the  white  marble  house  which  lies 
east  of  the  old  Albany  road?" 

"Yes,  I  see  the  building,  if  you  mean  that  one 
with  the  tower  and  gable-ends." 

"  Exactly.  Well,  the  Marcys  live  a  few  hundred 
yards  beyond.  The  house  is  back  from  the  road 
apiece,  with  trees  in  front,  and  granite  gate-posts  at 
the  entrance.  If  you  are  not  afraid  of  getting  lost, 
you  can  cut  across  country,  and  save  a  deal  of  walk- 
ing." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  information,"  replied  Dal  ton ; 
"  I  should  prefer  a  walk  over  these  hills  to  tramping 
in  the  dusty  roads." 

Dal  ton  was  no  novice  in  the  art  of  crossing  coun- 
try. In  campaigning,  the  roads  are  not  always  the 
most  comfortable  nor  the  safest  route  of  travel. 

It  was  a  bright  sunny  morning,  and  as  Dalton  left 
the  cluster  of  houses  near  the  station  and  climbed 
the  steep  hills,  it  seemed  to  his  elated  senses  as  if 
Nature  never  had  appeared  more  beautiful.  Accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  the  wide-spreading,  monotonous 
savannas,  the  low  marsh-lands  of  the  South,  and  the 
rank  luxuriance  of  its  tropical  vegetation,  there  was 
an  inexpressible  charm  in  the  rugged  character  of 
the  scenery  which  now  rose  up  before  him. 

A  heavy  shower  of  rain  of  the  night  before  had 


272  The   Sanctuary. 

started  into  life  myriad  buds,  and  blossoms,  and 
leaves.  There  was  a  novel  be.auty  in  this  foliage 
which  now  greeted  his  admiring  eyes  for  the  first 
time — in  the  rough  rocks  covered  with  moss  and 
lichens — in  the  hardy  pine  and  cedar,  the  birch  and 
maple,  springing  from  the  crevices  of  ledges  which 
appeared  to  find  their  base  in  the  eternal  foundations 
of  the  earth. 

As  he  passed  along,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock, 
plunging  into  the  woods,  traversing  the  fields,  his 
feet  seemed  to  take  buoyancy  from  his  heart,  elastic 
with  the  joy  of  love.  All  nature  was  in  grand  ac- 
cord with  the  one  key-note  of  his  delighted  con- 
sciousness. The  wrens  and  thrushes,  flitting  among 
the  branches,  caroled  one  name ;  the  orange-breasted 
oriole  had  borrowed  its  richest  tints  from  her  cheek ; 
the  delicate-stemmed  columbine,  clinging  to  its  rocky 
bed,  bowed  its  lovely  head  in  homage  to  her  grace ; 
the  modest  violet  hid  its  purple  leaves  among  the 
sedgy  grasses  in  gentle  recognition  of  her  chaste  pres- 
ence. 

Dalton  mounted  the  hill-sides,  and  crossed  the  riv- 
ulets, which  dashed  merrily  over  their  pebbly  beds. 
The  fields  spread  forth  their  carpets  of  green,  deco- 
rated with  wild  flowers,  where  tufts  of  coltsfoot,  in 
sober  gray,  were  coyly  kissing  the  full-stalked  gena- 


The  Sanctuary.  273 

rious,  and  dandelions  mingled  their  golden  petals 
with  the  succulent  red-topped  clover,  and  the  yellow 
buttercups-  were  drinking  in  full  draughts  of  sun- 
light. Beds  of  forget-me-nots  nodded  kindly  wel- 
come to  the  young  lover ;  pale-eyed  anemones  look- 
ed out  upon  him  from  their  shady  nooks ;  the  lilies 
of  the  valley  joined  in  the  hymn  of  love,  shaking 
tremblingly  their  silver  bells ;  while  white  dragon's- 
teeth  and  the  crimson  honeysuckle  whispered  of  gen- 
tle rest. 

A  countless  host  of  verdurous  beauties  were  these 
—  an  invading  army  of  white  and  green,  whose 
thousand  banners  of  blue,  and  red,  and  yellow  were 
gently  waving  in  the  wind,  surging  over  the  hill- 
tops, and  walls,  and  fences— a  host  armed  with  shield 
and  spear,  riotous  with  its  new-born  life,  with  its 
squads  of  wild  pinks,  like  skirmishers  in  the  extreme 
advance,  clinging  to  the  edges  of  the  granite  cliffs. 
And  thus,  in  all  their  pride  and  glory,  flanked  on 
either  side  by  blossoming  hedge  and  sturdy  forest- 
trees,  the  troops  of  flowers  moved  on,  chanting  the 
song  of  love  and  spring-time. 

The  fragrance   from   peach   and  apple   blossoms 
floated  in  the  air  from  orchards  nestling  in  the  val- 
leys ;  beds  of  wild  strawberry  at  his  feet  gave  forth 
their  delicate  perfume,  and  the  violet  contributed  its 
M2 


274  The  Sanctuary. 

fragrant  incense  to  tlie  offering  upon  love's  altar. 
The  dingy  cedars,  like  bachelors  who  have  outlived 
the  summer  and  winter  time  of  love,  looked  sadly 
down  upon  the  young  shoots,  the  budding  trees,  the 
tender  leaves;  but  in  the  contrast,  these  countless 
objects  of  beaut}^  just  springing  into  life  were  all  the 
more  charming. 

To  Dalton  all  this  wealth  of  form  and  color  had 
but  one  interpretation ;  to  him  it  was  significant  of 
glad  promises,  and  his  brain  reeled  with  these  intoxi- 
cating sights  and  odors  of  fecundating  nature.  It 
was  the  full  spring-time,  and  every  object  was  elo- 
quent with  the  language  of  love.  It  was  the  season 
of  hope,  of  desire,  of  promise. 

As  Dalton  approached  the  summit  of  the  hills, 
here  and  there,  through- the  openings  of  the  trees,  he 
caught  glimpses  of  the  river,  dotted  with  white  sails, 
and  beyond  a  faint  line  of  azure,  which  marked  the 
distant  mountains,  or  the  gray  walls  of  the  palisades 
lifted  themselves  beyond  the  leaves  and  branches. 
Cabinet  gems  were  these  in  a  panorama  of  ever- 
changing  beauty.  Now  and  then  he  passed  splendid 
villas — "palaces"  they  would  have  been  called  in  the 
Old  World — and  once  his  way  led  near  a  vineyard 
resting  upon  a  sunny  slope,  where  the  happy  hus- 
bandman was  trimming  the  sprouting  vines. 


The  Sanctuary,  275 

As  Dalton  proceeded  on,  he  found  he  had  come 
into  a  pathway  which  led  out  upon  a  terrace.  To 
his  right,  through  the  trees,  he  could  see  a  flower- 
garden,  and  beyond  the  wide  piazza  of  a  house.  To 
his  immediate  left  was  a  wall,  which  not  only  served 
as  a  line  of  demarcation,  but  which  prevented  the 
earth  from  sliding  a  hundred  feet  into  the  road  be- 
low, which,  glittering  in  the  sunlight,  seemed  like  a 
thread  of  gold  winding  its  way  under  the  willows 
and  elms,  and  over  the  hills,  until  lost  in  the  mazes 
of  "  Sleepy  Hollow."  A  glorious  sight  it  was  which 
spread  out  before  his  eyes,  as  he  gazed  to  the  north- 
ward over  meadow,  field,  and  forest  to  the  Hudson, 
widening  out  into  the  broad  Tappan  Zee,  dotted  with 
sail,  and  steamer,  and  raft,  and  barge — its  shores 
basking  in  the  sunlight — its  promontories  crowned 
with  castellated  mansions — its  bank  bordered  with 
villages — and  then,  beyond,  the  mountains  melting 
into  the  pale  blue  sky.  To  the  west,  the  Palisades 
bounded  the  horizon — that  wall  of  granite,  stretch- 
ing to  the  sea,  which  in  the  dawn  of  creation  lifted 
its  majestic  front  from  out  the  seething  waters — em- 
blem of  eternal  might  in  its  grandeur  and  simplicity. 

And  Dalton  stood  spellbound  as  his  eye  wandered 
over  this  scene  of  incomparable  beauty.  N'owhere 
in  all  the  world  can  be  found  so  rare  a  combination 


27t)  The   Sanctuaky. 

of  the  grand  and  picturesque.  Not  on  the  Khine, 
with  its  vine-clad  hills  and  ruined  castles — not  on 
the  shores  of  that  mountain  lake  immortalized  by 
the  loves  of  a  Heloise — not  in  the  Old  "World  nor 
the  New  is  there  a  vision  so  full  of  witching  grace, 
of  human  interest,  of  the  sublime,  the  eternal. 

Inspired  with  a  sense  of  reverential  awe  and  infi- 
nite tenderness,  the  impassioned  Southerner  realized 
in  his  inmost  nature  the  inspired  words  of  the  Evan- 
gelist, "God  is  Love." 

With  love's  prophetic  intuition,  he  was  certain  he 
should  find  Agnes  out  in  the  open  air. 

"TVas  she  not  queen  of  all  this  vision  of  beauty  ? 
and  should  she  not  move  in  the  presence  of  her  sub- 
jects?" 

Advancing  toward  an  arbor  of  flowering  vines 
perched  upon  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  Dalton  sud- 
denly found  himself  within  a  few  feet  of  this  queen 
of.  his  dreams. 

Agnes  did  not  expect  Dalton  to  come  by  the  path- 
way which  led  through  the  wood.  All  the  morning 
she  had  gazed  down  the  road,  and  over  the  roof  of 
green,  and  out  upon  the  waters,  over  which  the 
clouds  were  flinging  their  purple  shadows,  and  then 
her  eyes  wandered  back  upon  the  road  again.  Not 
for  a  moment  did  she  doubt  his  coming.     She  had 


The  Sanctuary.  277 

gone  forth  to  meet  him  with  a  heart  light  and  joy- 
ous, yet  tempered  with  that  strange  sadness  which 
comes  with  perfect  peace  in  loving. 

Never  had  she  appeared  more  beautiful  to  her 
lover  than  now.  Her  robe  of  lilac  and  rose,  her 
dark  hair  relieved  against  the  pure  skin,  blooming 
with  the  freshness  of  the  morning,  she  had  that  fresh 
delicacy  which  we  admire  in  the  leaves  when  first 
unfolding  from  the  bud. 

It  was  a  tremulous,  broken  cry  of  ecstatic  joy 
which  came  from  her  lips  when  Dalton  stood  before 
her,  and  she  ran  to  his  open  arms  and  nestled  to  his 
heart.  Oh  the  ineffable  bliss  of  that  moment,  when 
every  sense,  all  consciousness,  was  lost  in  the  resist- 
less flood.  In  its  noontide  glory  Dalton  was  transr 
figured  to  the  Psalmist's  conception  of  the  "full  stat- 
ure of  a  man ;"  and  Agnes  was  all  woman  now,  for 
absolute  faith  and  absolute  trust  filled  up  the  meas- 
ure of  her  love. 

Never  were  two  natures  more  harmoniously  united 
than  were  these.  In  one  as  in  the  other,  there  was 
the  same  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  same  devotion  to 
the  right.  ISTever  were  two  souls  more  closely  inter- 
twined by  mutual  suffering  than  were  theirs.  From 
the  wintry  tears  shed  upon  that  lonely  grave  in  Bon- 
aventura  had  sprung,  moistened  into  life,  the  bright 


278  The  Sanctuary. 

flowers  of  an  everlasting  spring-time  of  love.  It  had 
been  a  trial  of  rectitude  over  self,  and  both  had  come 
out  conquerors. 

Grently  as  the  golden  clouds  floated  across  the  pure 
sky  passed  the  hours,  until  the  sun  began  to  sink  be- 
hind the  Palisades,  now  a  purple  shadow  looming 
up  in  gigantic  proportions  against  the  sky.  Through 
narrow  clefts  in  the  distant  hills  the  God  of  Day  yet 
poured  a  flood  of  glory,  illuminating  some  quiet  vil- 
lage, or  shooting  broad  bars  across  the  crimson  wa- 
ters, transforming  their  smooth  surface  into  a  carpet 
of  red  and  gold.  And  now  the  sun,  a  fiery  disc  in  a 
sea  of  orange,  and  azure,  and  emerald,  disappears 
from  sight.  The  countless  cloud-wavelets  in  the  em- 
purpled zenith  give  back  in  rosy  hues  its  last  rays, 
which  linger  like  the  flush  on  the  cheek  of  the  dy- 
ing; and  now  even  that  is  gone,  and  Agnes  clings 
closer  to  her  lover's  breast.  And  then  meadow,  and 
field,  and  forest  are  covered  by  a  misty  veil ;  the 
birds  have  gone  to  rest ;  the  hills  have  changed  from 
russet  to  purple  and  blue;  the  distant  mountains 
have  vanished  into  night;  the  world  of  stars  have 
come  forth,  and  sparkle  and  glimmer  in  the  heavens, 
reflected  in  multiplied  beauties  in  the  bosom  of  the 
river  below.  But,  more  beautiful  than  all,  hanging 
in  the  western  sky,  radiant  in  virginal  purity,  Yenus 


i^i^:^ 


■God  is  very  kind  to  us,  David.' 


The  Sanctuary.  281 

beams  forth — a  sign  of  proittise,  emblem  of  eternal 
love. 

The  silence  is  hardly  broken  by  Dalton's  trem- 
bling words, 

"Let  us  go  in — the  night  air  may  chill  you;  the 
dew-drops  already  glisten  in  your  hair,  Agnes,  dar- 
ling— my  wife." 

"  God  is  very  kind  to  us,  David." 


XLII. 

TT  is  certain  that  that  highly  respectable  old  gen- 
-^  tleman,  Mr.  James  Noble,  never,  was  so  amazed 
as  when,  one  day,  Colonel  Horton  said  to  him, 

"Mr.  Noble,  I  wish  to  ask  for  your  consent  to  the 
marriage  of  Miss  Kate  and  myself." 

The  three — Kate,  her  father,  and  the  colonel — had 
just  retired  to  the  library  after  dinner.  We  said 
that  Mr.  Noble  was  amazed,  but  this  fails  to  express 
his  astonishment.  Here,  for  two  weeks,  Horton  and 
Kate  had  been  blooming  in  the  sunshine  of  young 
love  before  his  eyes,  and  not  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  the  fact  had  found  its  way  through  the  maze  of 
contracts,  statistics,  and  prices  current  which  filled 
the  worthy  merchant's  head.  For  want  of  words, 
he  fixed  his  eye-glass  to  his  nose,  and  stared  at  the 
young  soldier.  This  optical  demonstration  neces- 
sarily included  Kate ;  for  with  that  brave  heart  and 
wisdom  of  a  true  soldier's  wife  which  she  was  des- 
tined to  be,  she  understood  the  value  of  putting  in 


The  Sanctuary.  283 

the  reserves  at  the  critical  moment,  and  had  taken 
position  resting  upon  the  colonel's  left. 

Mr.  Noble  had  never  studied  Jomini  nor  Ovid, 
and  was  ignorant  of  the  tactics  of  war  or  love,  yet  he 
could  not  misunderstand  this  movement.  Without 
making  any  reply  to  Horton's  request,  he  at  last 
found  words  to  address  his  daughter : 

''  Well,  Kate,  what  does  this  mean?  I — I — never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I  love  him,  father.  I  loved  him  a  long  while 
ago."  And  Kate  wound  her  arm  about  her  father's 
neck,  while  her  disengaged  hand  was  still  held  fast 
in  Horton's. 

"But,  Colonel  Horton,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
turning  upon  that  resolute  -  looking  young  man, 
"how  can  you  support  a  wife?  You  haven't  any 
income.  You  are  going  to  leave  the  army,  you  say, 
and  you  have  no  occupation." 

"I  have  saved  money  from  my  pay,  and  I  intend 
to  follow  my  old  profession  as  an  artist.  With  the 
material  which  I  have  gathered  during  'the  war,  I 
have  no  fear  but  what  I  can  paint  pictures  which 
will  insure  me  a  competency." 

"  Humph !"  was  the  response  of  the  old  gentleman, 
who  thought  of  the  amount  whicli  Horton  might 
have  saved  out  of  $150  per  month.     The  soldier's 


284  The   Saxctuary. 

pay  did  not  assume  any  large  proportions  in  view 
of  Mr.  Noble's  last  speculation  in  cotton,  which  had 
netted  him  some  $50,000.  • 

"  Well,  well,  we'll  see  about  it,"  he  said,  as  he  left 
the  happy  lovers  and  set  out  for  the  club,  muttering 
to  himself  as  he  walked  along,  "He's  a  thousand 
times  better  than  these  whipper-snappers  who  staid 
at  home." 

!N"ot  many  months  after  this  event,  and  but  a  few 
weeks  ago,  Horton  and  Kate  were  married  in  King's 
Chapel,  to  the  delight  of  all  who  witnessed  the  cere- 
mony, which  did  not  include  Henry  Gray  in  the 
number.  To  Horton  there  is  no  such  person  as 
Henry  Gray. 

The  fortunes  of  the  other  actors  in  our  story  may 
be  quickly  told. 

Zimri  is  in  charge  of  a  Sea  Island  plantation, 
which  is  the  property  of  Mr.  Noble,  where  he  fulfills 
his  duties  to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  all  concerned. 
Zimri  is  where  he  would  best  love  to  be — among  his 
own  people,  in  whose  moral  and  intellectual  advance- 
ment his  heart  is  bound  up.  Manly  and  gentle,  ten- 
der even,  he  is  to  them ;  yet  there  never  was  a  plan- 
tation under  the  old  system  conducted  with  more 
order  or  with  greater  econom}'. 


The  Sanctuary.  285 

Zimri  Horton,  for  that  is  the  name  he  bears,  is 
what  the  world  sometimes  calls  a  broken  -  hearted 
man  ;  that  is,  he  carries  with  him  an  unutterable  sad- 
ness. Life  to  him  is  no  longer  a  joy,  but  a  duty,  and 
he  bends  himself  to  his  work  with  unceasing  endeav- 
or. In  work  only  does  he  find  rest — such  rest  as 
may  come  to  him.  In  truth  he  is  a  leader  among  his 
race  • —  one  of  those  silent  but  powerful  influences 
which,  building  broadly  and  at  the  base,  are  making 
up  a  reconstructed  South. 

Leveridge  is  out  in  the  West,  as  cheerfully  as  he 
may,  practicing  law. 

Barnard  is  also  out  of  the  army,  and  fills,  ably  and 
honorably,  an  ofS.ce  in  the  state  government  of  New 
York. 

Oakland  may  be  seen  at  five  o'clock  of  most  any 
afternoon  coming  from  his  business  up  Broadway. 
He  has  his  own  love  affair,  but  that  does  not  come 
into  our  story. 

These  men,  who  served  their  country  so  nobly  on 
the  battle-field,  are  examples  of  that  marvelous  inci- 
dent in  our  national  history  where  a  million  of  men 
have,  as  it  were,  in  a  day  passed  from  a  life  which 
outrages  every  principle  of  social  order,  and  have 
become  absorbed  in  our  peaceful  community  as  the 
snow-flake  falls  into  the  bosom  of  the  placid  river. 


286  The   Sanctuary. 

Harold  Dal  ton  is  prosperously  engaged  in  business 
in  Savannah.  He  sees  every  day  the  men  who  but 
a  little  while  ago  were  his  bitter  persecutors.  Have 
they  repented  for  those  cruel  outrages  ?  Has  Harold 
forgiven  them? 

A  few  days  ago  we  saw  Colonel  Dalton  and  his 
wife  at  the  Exhibition  of  the  Academy  of  Design. 
They  were  happy  as  two  flowers  are  happy  that 
grow  upon  the  same  stalk.  They  stood  before  a 
powerfully  painted  picture    entitled  "  The    Sanctu- 

^'Horton  and  I  were  near  by  at  the  time  that  inci- 
dent occurred,"  said  Dalton ;  "  and  when  the  group 
of  refugees  and  negroes  which  he  has  so  graphically 
portrayed  came  in  sight  of  the  old  flag  on  the  fort, 
and  fell  upon  their  knees  in  prayer,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  scene  was  emblematical,  and  that  beneath, 
the  folds  of  our  national  banner  we  could  say,  with- 
out a  blush,  that  there^was  not  only  liberty  and  safe- 
ty for  the  freed  black,  but  that  it  was  the  SANCTU- 
ARY for  the  oppressed  of  all  the  world. 


By  Miss  Mulock, 


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It  was  once  said  of  a  very  charming  and  high-minded  woman  that  to  know  her 
was  in  itself  a  liberal  education ;  and  we  are  inclined  to  set  an  almost  equally 
high  value  on  an  acquaintance  with  the  writings  of  "George  Eliot."  For  those 
who  read  them  aright  they  possess  the  faculty  of  educating  in  its  highest  sense, 
of  invigorating  thelntellect,  gi^'ing  a  healthy  tone  to  the  taste,  appealing  to  the 
noblerl"eeliugs  of  the  heart,  training  its  impulses  aright,  and  awakening  orde- 
veloping  in  every  mind  the  consciousness  of  a  craving  for  something  higher  than 
the  pleasures  and  rewards  of  that  life  which  only  the  senses  realize,  the  belief  in 
a  destinv  of  a  nobler  nature  than  can  be  grasped  by  experience  or  demonstrated 
by  argument.  On  those  readers  who  are  able  to  appreciate  a  lofty  independence 
of  thought,  a  rare  nobility  of  feeling,  and  an  exquisite  S}-mpathy  with  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  human  nature,  "George  Eliot's"  writings  can  not  fail  to  exert  an 
invigorating  and  purifying  influence,  the  good  effects  of  which  leaves  behind  it 
a  lasting  impression.— Lohi^?o/i  Revicic. 

"George  Eliot,"  or  M-hoever  he  or  she  may  be,  has  a  wonderful  power  in  giv- 
ing an  air  of  intense  reality  to  whatever  scene  is  presented,  whatever  character 
is  portrayed. — Worcester  Palladium. 

She  r^embles  Shakspeare  in  her  power  of  delineation.  It  is  from  this  char- 
acteristic action  on  the  part  of  each  of  the  members  of  the  dramatis  personce  that 
we  feel  not  only  an  interest,  even  and  consistent  throughout,  but  also  an  admira- 
tion for  "  George  Eliot"  above  all  other  writers.— Philadel2)hia  Evenimj  Telearaph. 

Few  women— no  living  woman  indeed— have  so  much  strength  as  "George 
Eliot."  and,  more  than  that,  she  never  allows  it  to  degenerate  into  coarseness. 
With  all  her  so-called  "masculine"  ^igor,  she  has  a  feminine  tenderness,  which 
is  nowhere  shown  more  plainly  than  in  her  descriptions  of  children. — Boston 
Transcript. 

She  looks  out  upon  the  world  with  the  most  entire  enjoyment  of  all  the  good 
that  there  is  in  it  to  enjoy,  and  with  an  enlarged  compassion  for  all  the  ill  that 
there  is  in  it  to  pity.  But  she  never  either  whimpers  over  the  sorrowful  lot  of 
man,  or  snarls  and  chuckles  over  his  follies  and  littlenesses  and  impotence. — 
Satwday  Revieio. 

Her  acquaintance  with  different  phases  of  outward  life,  and  the  power  of  an- 
alyzing feeling  and  the  working  of  the  mind,  are  alike  wonderful. — Reader. 

"  George  Eliot's"  novels  belong  to  the  enduring  literature  of  our  country- 
durable,  not  for  the  fashionableness  of  its  pattern,  but  for  the  texttire  of  its  stuff. 
— Examiner. 


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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

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AT 

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